World Without
by RenkonNairu
Summary: Superman died at the hands of Doomsday. 16 weeks later, his clone is found. -SEASON 1 AU-
1. Legacy

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

World Without

Chapter One: Legacy

_Like weary boxers who have gone the distance, the combatants collided in one last explosive effort. _

_In the years to come, a few witnesses would tell of the power of those final punches… that they could literally feel the shockwaves. Others will remember the enormous crater that resulted from the sheer force of the blows. But most will remember that sad day—_

_-As the day the proudest, most noble man they ever knew—_

_-Finally fell._

_For those who loved him – One who would call him 'husband', one who would be his pal – Or those who would call him 'son' – This is the darkest day they could ever imagine. They raised him to be a hero… to know the value of sacrifice. To know the value of life. _

_And for those who served with the Superman – comes the shock of failure. The weight of being to late to help. _

_For a city to live, a man had given his all, and more. _

_On that day, a Superman fell._

…

16 Weeks Later…

The media swarmed on either side of the main entrance to the Hall of Justice. The only thing keeping the surging tides of people from rushing the heroes and their protégés were two velvet ropes that lined the walkway up to the door.

Most of the news anchors and other members of the press were content to simply watch and report. The procession of Batman with Robin, Aquaman with Aqualad, the Flash with Kid Flash and Green Arrow with Speedy, passing in the background of their cameras while they commentated into the lends. But there was also always that _one_ that just _had_ to out due the others. Usually, that one was named Lois Lane of the Daily Planet. Today, however, it was Vicki Vale from the day-time talk show 'The Scene'.

She marched right up to the velvet rope and stuck her microphone right out in front of the Dark Knight to ask, "Batman, any comment on the speculation that this admittance of sidekicks into the Justice League is an attempt to fill the hole left by Superman?"

The heroes both young an old froze at her question, looking between Ms. Vale and the Caped Crusader.

The Batman gave Vicki a long hard stare through the whited-out eye sockets of his cowl. Bruce Wayne had a dinner date with her later in the week, but he was suddenly considering a mysterious cancellation.

A movement in the crowd behind her drew his attention, however. Lois Lane, pen and pad in hand, was slowly shimmying her way to them. It had been only three months since Clark's death. It was cruel of Perry to send her on this assignment. Or, perhaps she had asked for it. That did seem to be a Lois-thing to do. Either way, this must be hard for her. There was no doubt in the Batman's mind that the very same question Vicki asked was also plaguing her mind. Were Robin, Kid Flash, Aqualad and Speedy her fiancé's replacements?

The Dark Knight returned his attention to Ms. Vale and growled into the mic, his voice full of quiet passion and distant thunder, "_Nothing can replace Superman_."

The procession continued on. Into the Hall.

…

Speedy's tantrum and subsequent storming out left an awkward silence in the room. Robin, Kid Flash and Aqualad all exchanged similar looks of hesitation. None of them knew what to do or say to get this 'induction' back on track.

Luckily, the life of a superhero is often interrupted.

The consol behind Batman sprang to life with a call from Watchtower and the image of Wonder Woman filled the screen. "Cadmus Labs has reported a fire."

The Caped Crusader drifted closer to the consol to address the amizon directly. "Mm, I had my suspicions about Cadmus-"

But he was cut off mid-sentence by Zatara appearing in a second, smaller, window on the main consol screen. "Attention all Leaguer! Wotan is trying to use the Amulet of Atem to block out the sun!"

Well, that certainly look precedence over a simple fire. (Or an un-simple fire.)

"It's a small fire." Wonder Woman was quick to assure everyone.

Then their mentors plus the Martian Manhunter and Red Tornado were all zettaing to rendezvous with the rest of the League, leaving their three remaining sidekicks totally alone and unsupervised.

Robin waited until the count of ten before he dashed over to the main consol and began typing madly away at the keys. He pulled up all the information the League had on Cadmus. A genetics lab, based here in DC. Independently owned. Funded by several anonymous donations. Very few publications of results, yet no decline in funding. No wonder Batman was suspicious!

"Dude! Did you just hack the Hall's computer?" KF appeared beside him –and somehow had a carrot in his hand, though the canteen was on the opposite side of the building.

"It's the same system as the Batcave." Shrugged the Boy Wonder, as if that alone should explain everything and Batman's computer software wasn't all that tough. He pulled up a recording the police dispatch for the fire.

"You are looking into Cadmus." Aqualad commented, coming up to stand at the Robin's other side.

"Yeah." He nodded. "If Batman's suspicious, we should investigate."

The atlantian gave a small smirk of understanding. He hadn't worked with the Boy Wonder as often as Kid Flash had, but he knew him well enough to know what he was thinking in this moment. "Solve their case before they do."

"It would be poetic justice." Robin nodded.

"Hey, those guys are all about justice." Kid Flash agreed.

And, just like that, the three of them were a Team on a mission.

…

"Uh, guys… You might wanna look at this."

KF pressed a button on the consol in front of him and lights flared to life over a single geno-pod. The pod was crowned by three creatures similar to the ones they had just escaped, but smaller. Each sealed within its own egg-shaped chamber. Below them, inside the actual pod – was a person.

Tall. Robin would guess him to be about six feet, maybe more. Muscular, everything was ripped and toned under the skin-so-tight-it-might-as-well-have-been-painted-on suit he was wearing. But he was young. Mid-teens. Younger than Speedy, but older than Kid Flash. Sixteen or seventeen, maybe. But the most striking feature… the thing that made all three boys stop and stare, mouth agape… was his face.

It was Superman's face.

Well, what they imagine Superman would have looked like as a teenager.

Robin recognized him instantly. He was the spitting image to Clark's high school yearbook photo. Cadmus had made themselves a new Superman. The man had been dead barely over three months and they were already crafting themselves a new one. Robin liked Superman too. He still had that bit of scrap-metal Clark had given him when he asked for his autograph. Clark was a good man. He deserved better than this.

Aqualad was the first to recover. "Robin, hack!"

The Boy Wonder blinked behind the whited-out eye sockets of his mask. "Huh? Oh, right."

He jacked into the console in front of them and began sifting through files and files. A clone of Superman. Made from DNA acquired from the scene of his final demise at the hands of the Doomsday monster. Force-grown to this stage of development in a period of sixteen weeks… All this he relayed to the other two, before compressing the files and saving the information to his glove. Bruce would want to go through it later when he was back at the Batcave. (After he finished his bro-rage temper tantrum, that is.)

Then Wally had to go and say, "They're making a slave out of Superman's… well, _son_!"

Forget the temper tantrum Bruce was going to throw at finding out his best friend had been cloned. What kind of fit would _Lois_ pitch!? She was Clark's fiancée (his widow as far as the League was concerned) how would she react to learning that her fiancé had a pseudo-son?

And then, said pseudo-son opened his eyes.

…

When the trio came-to, they were shackled up inside pods of their own, the super-clone starring up at them.

Robin looked down at that crystal-blue stare and –oh, god! those were Clark's eyes! Well, of course they were Clark's eyes, idiot. He's Clark's clone. Come on, keep it together and stay whelmed. Free yourself first. Then you can have a little freak-out from the safety of the Batcave (while Bruce throws furniture around). And, oh god, my ribs!

The Boy Wonder wiggled and wriggled his wrist to work the pick he kept in his glove for this very purpose up to a position where he could manipulate it with his fingers.

"Stop starring!" Kid shouted. "Its freakin' me out!"

Robin just rolled his eyes. Great, KF. How about you not ticking-off the guy who can fry us with a look? Would that work for you? Or is that two hard? When we get out of this… no cookies for you!

"Kid, please." Aqualad attempted to pacify the anxious speedster. "I do not believe he is in complete control of his own actions."

At those words the kryptonian clone gave a slight groan. His hands balling into fists at his sides and, oh crap, here it comes! They were all gonna be burnt to a crisp courtesy of super-hot lazer eye-beams. Damn it, Kaldur! No cookies for you either!

And then… the clone spoke. "What if… what if I wasn't?"

That voice… Robin's hand almost paused in his task of picking the locks of his cuffs. That was Clark's voice. Younger, yeah. But that was still the same voice that had said to him, 'An autograph? Well, I better make it official.' He had only been nine years old at the time, but it was the first time he'd ever seen Superman up close, ever actually _met_ the Superman! And Clark had smiled at him. Shook his hand. Humored his request for an autograph. Not just humored him, but gone above and beyond just a simple signature on paper and welded his name out on metal with his heat-vision.

"Holy George Taylor, Batman!" Exclaimed the Kid Flash. "He can talk!"

The clone's eyes narrowed at him. "Yes. _He_ can."

Holy blabbering-blaberskite, Kid Flash, shut-up!

The clone then launched into a short monologue. Robin only paid half-attention. He almost had the first cuff open. The G-gnomes taught the clone telepathically. He could read and write. Spoke multiple languages. Knew the names of things… That was an interesting phrasing. 'The names of things'. Not, 'I know what things are called'. No, it was 'I now the names of things'. Sure, it was just semantics, but Robin loved semantics! It really illustrated just how new to the world the clone really was. And that caused something else to occur to the Boy Wonder.

"But, have you seen them?" He asked. "They sky or… the _sun_?"

Clark's power came from the sun. True, according to the files, the clone was still able to absorb sunlight even this deep under the Earth thanks to the solar-suit he wore. But… but it was dark down here, and Clark had always been about light and life. It was a cruelty to never let a copy of him –his 'son' as Wally called him- to never let him see the sun.

"Images are implanted in my mind." The clone repeated. "But… no. I haven't seen them."

And something inside the Robin broke just a little bit at hearing that. He imagined Clark never seeing the sun. "We can show you the sun."

"Uh… I'm pretty sure its after dark now, Rob." Kid Flash reminded him. "But we can show you the moon!"

…

Kr held the rubble up so as not to crush his liberators into mushy goo. The trio huddled around his feet, trying to take up as little space as possible. Knees bents, muscles straining under the weight of a building collapsing under him, he waited until he felt mo more movement.

It was all so new. The action. The battles. The excitement. Was this what it was like to be _him_?

When all was still above them, Kr straitened. Lifting with his legs, he propelled the debris off them and for the first time in his short life was exposed to the outside.

Warm summer air wafted around him. Though it was early July, the air was still cooler than the caverns of Cadmus had been. And there was a breeze! Airflow! Real airflow. Not created by automated fans and oxygen recyclers. This was the air of the world. Nitrogen, oxygen and argon –air. Also, nitric oxide and dioxide, and sulphur dioxide –smog. Kr sniffed, wanting to preserve this moment in his memory for years to come.

Then, the Kid Flash said, "See? The moon."

And he pointed to a large globe glowing silver-white in the sky. It hung low over the cityscape, and very, very big. Shades of white and gray playing over its surface. Craters pot-marked its face. The Sea of Tranquility stared down at him, just as he was staring up at it. The moon. Terra luna. Earth's only natural satellite and the closest celestial neighbor. Kr felt almost like he could reach up and grab it if he tried. Had _he_ been to the moon? Had _he_ stood on its surface?

But then his vision of it was partially blocked, his attention captured instead by a series of silhouettes drifting down from the sky around them. As they drew closer Kr began to recognize them from the images the G-gnomes implanted in him. Captain Atom. Hawkman. Wonder Woman. Hawkwoman. Green Lantern (the first one). Black Canary. Aquaman. Green Lantern (the second one, public identity: John Stewart).

Batman.

The Caped Crusader was silent a long time. They all were. But it was the Batman that Kr's attention fixed on. He felt like the man wasn't just looking at him, but studying him. Dissecting him with his eyes behind that cowl. Taking in his ebony hair, the luminous crystal-eyes of a shade of blue not found on Earth, the high cheek bones, the square jaw, and, of course, the S-shield on his chest. Bold in red over its background of white.

Would the Dark Knight invite him to join the League? After all, now that Superman was dead, that meant that Kr was the Superman now. It was only natural that he join the Justice League.

Then those whited-out eyes flashed for a moment as the Batman shifted his attention from the clone to the Robin standing behind him. "Start talking."

He did not even acknowledge Kr!

And so, the Boy Wonder explained with occasional help from Kid Flash and Aqualad. Through out all of it, the Caped Crusader did not pay him a second glance, not even for a moment. Kr listened as well, with growing irritation. He learned about the fire Dubbilex set to draw them there, how he was made from DNA collected from the sight of Superman's death, grown in three months, Superman's replacement… All the while, Robin kept calling him 'Superman's clone' or just 'the clone'.

Finally, Kr heard enough and was sick of being ignored.

"That's it!" He shouted suddenly. "Stop calling me that! If Superman's dead, then _I'm_ Superman now!"

It was then that the Batman turned his attention back to Kr. He crossed the distance between them and stared down at the self-proclaimed 'Superman'. Kr had never imagined such a frightening glare before, let alone ever _seen_ one. Half of the man's face was obscured by the cowl, all he could really see was that lower half of face, the mouth set in a grim line. But those blank white eyes seemed so much more intimidating than they had a moment ago. Kr knew the name of this feeling –fear. The G-gnomes taught it to him. But he never thought he would be one to ever feel it. But, even with all his kryptonian abilities, _the Batman scared him_.

And then, the Dark Knight spoke. Just one sentence. Voice low and gravely. Hinting at deep emotions suppressed and silent rage just barely held by a frail leash of discipline.

"_You are not Superman_."

…

(A/N: The monologue at the beginning was taken directly from the "Death of Superman". I thought it would make a better opening than a long battle or overly simple "One day, Superman died." Plus, I'm lazy and it was easy.)


	2. Divine Inheritance

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

World Without

Chapter Two: Divine Inheritance

"_You are not Superman_."

Batman glared at the boy in front of him. This little upstart claiming to be the heir to the Superman mantel –Clark's legacy. He didn't even _know_ Clark! Not like they knew him. Not like Bruce knew him.

A programmed education.

Shown newspaper articles and TV broadcasts about Superman. Discovery Channel specials about the destruction of Krypton and theorized about his life on Earth when not in costume. Interviews with Lois –oh god, Lois!

In a semi-circle around them, the rest of the Justice League fidgeted uncomfortably. Shifting their weight from foot to foot, scratching their heads, or attempting to place their hands in their pockets only to remember that their spandex tights had no pockets. It was hard not to feel something about this. Clark had been one of them. A friend. A comrade. A brother. And here was this kid, from out of nowhere, demanding the Superman title and all the respect that came with it.

Bruce, with all his discipline and self-control, was just barely managing to keep his feelings –his temper- in check. It was a wonder the rest of the League hadn't already burst out into hysterics.

"I am Superman." The boy insisted. Looking up into the eye-slits of the Batman's dark cowl, being cowed, then looking back down suddenly. Talking to his feet instead, he continued, "I was created to replace Superman should he perish. Since Superman is dead, that make me to the new Superman."

The Batman tried to separate himself from the situation in front of him. Shove his emotions into a compartment in the back of his mind and deal with the boy objectively –just like he handled all his cases. Without getting emotionally involved. Yes, Clark had been his friend -his Finest friend- but he couldn't allow that to influence his handling of this angry and sullen looking _child_. The last thing the Batman wanted was to piss off and have to subdue an anomalous kryptonian clone.

"Divine Inheritance went out with Louis XVI." He growled, and it sounded harsher than the Caped Crusader meant it to. "You want to be called 'Superman'? Earn it!"

That wasn't what he'd meant to say. The Dark Knight had planned to instead give the boy a short speech on doing right by the name, preserving the 'Superman Legacy', and being the kind of man Clark would _want_ as his successor. Something inspirational. The Batman was not good at inspirational speeches. Clark had been. But Clark… It seemed Bruce couldn't quite keep his feelings separate from this issue. At least, not to the extent he needed them to be.

How would Clark have handled this?

The obnoxiously optimistic farm-boy probably would have welcomed the kid to the world with a smile and a handshake. Maybe made some comment about no longer being the last of his kind, and how great it was to find another kryptonian. Even if that kryptonian had been artificially created. Now, lets go out for pie and talk about assimilating you into the rest of the world, blah, blah, blah… Instant friends! (How did he always manage to make friends so damn easily?) Naïve country bumpkin!

Bruce missed him.

But Clark was gone now.

He had been dead for three months. That was the whole reason this… this Super… _Boy_ was created. That was how he was _able_ to be created. All those fluids Clark left behind. Blood. Sweat. Saliva. Tears… More than enough for a competent geneticist to collect a viable DNA sample from.

"I don't need to prove anything to you!" The super-clone snarled back.

And with that, the boy jumped high into the air, arching over the street. For one brief moment it looked as if he were flying, then gravity once again took hold of him and pulled him back Earthward. He landed on his feet, knees bending to absorb some of the impact, the asphalt of the street buckling under him, leaving behind an impressive crater. No sooner had he landed than the boy took off again with another super-jump.

Bruce was shown just how unlike Clark this new Superboy really was. It wasn't just his lack of powers. He was young and those would come with age. But the tantrum he'd just thrown. Storming off in an angry huff. First night out in the world, and already he had a chip on his shoulder. Sullen and impatient. Unwilling to listen. Nothing like Clark at all. He was no Superman.

Still, they couldn't leave someone with the potential for Superman's powers (and by extension, the potential for Zod-level destruction) running loose unmonitored and unchecked. Bruce just didn't want to be the one to go after him.

"Someone, go after him." He said. "Make sure he doesn't do anything Superman wouldn't do."

…

Kr took off, heading north towards Metropolis. He knew what he was and he didn't need the Batman's permission to fulfill his imperative. The first Superman was dead, he was the Superman now. That's all he needed to know. Everything else was secondary.

He heard a rushing sound just as the arch of his third jump began to carry him downwards and when his feet finally hit the ground, Kid Flash with the Robin on his back were waiting for him.

"Wait up!" Said the speedster.

But Kr didn't feel like listening to whatever it was they had to say. He was thankful to them for freeing him. Really he was. If it weren't for them he wouldn't have seen the sky, felt the open air on his face, or stood in the moonlight. For that he was truly grateful. But Robin was the Batman's partner and the Kid Flash was the Flash's who followed the Batman's commands as leader of the Justice League. He didn't want to listen to either of them telling him he should go back and do what the Batman told him. He wasn't the Batman's man. He was his own man. The Man of Steel. Superman!

They were waiting for him at his next landing. "We just want-"

Jump away. Stay the course to Metropolis. That was Superman's town. That was where Kr belonged.

They were there at the landing after that, too. "-to talk-"

Kr continued to ignore them. Just keep jumping. Feel the wind on your face. The rush of air in your ears. That moment of stillness before you start to descend. More wind. More rushing air. A sudden stop. The ground yielding under your feet.

"-to you."

"Leave me alone!" Kr shouted before jumping away again.

It wasn't flying. But he could go so high. Like Kid Flash had said back under Cadmus, 'leap tall buildings'. It was almost like flying. The rush of air. That single half-second long moment of stillness and weightlessness at his peek before the inevitable plunge. It wasn't flying, but it _almost_ was. Almost.

Another landing, and there they were again. Kid Flash munching on a granola bar, Robin still on his back. This time it was the Boy Wonder who spoke. "Superboy, wait!"

Kr paused. He turned on the pair then, a snarl on his lips. "Don't call me 'Superboy'!"

The two exchanged a look of unease.

Robin climbed down off Kid Flash's back and took a cautious step towards the super-clone.

"Look, we kinda messed-up back there. Sorry." Admitted the Boy Wonder. "You can call yourself whatever you want to call yourself. It's not really the name that's important. What Batman was trying to say, or what I think he was trying to say, was- ugh! Look, we all knew Superman –the first one. He was our friend. They don't know you is all. Usually, when someone shows up out of nowhere claiming to be a hero they turn out to be more ambivalent then benevolent. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Kr was silent a beat, digesting Robin's words. Then, "They don't trust me."

"No." Said the Boy Wonder quickly. "Well, yes. They don't really trust you all that much. But they don't think you're a bad guy or anything. That's not what I'm saying. It's just that… Superman's only been gone a few months. For some of them –for some of us the wounds are still pretty fresh, and then you turn up claiming his mantel. It just… Its stirs up a lot of feeling, okay? There was some miscommunication back there."

A stray firework was heard off in the distance, but none of them looked to see it. Kid Flash and Robin's attention was focused on the super-clone and the super-clone was starring at his feet.

Kr ran through the information he had on the Batman refining his mental search for only data that related directly to Superman. The Dark Knight and the Man of Steel were partners. They were members of the Justice League, yes. But they were also their own team, the World's Finest was what the newspapers had dubbed them. By claiming the title of 'Superman' did the Caped Crusader think he was also presuming to claim the vacant position of World's Finest partner? Possibly. Kr just didn't know.

"So, is that it then?" He asked. "You came all this way just to apologize for your mentor?"

At that the Kid Flash gave a snort into his glove. "If Rob tried apologizing every time Bats was rude to someone, _it'd be a full time job_!"

The Boy Wonder ignored his friend. Shaking his head, he said, "Come back with us. You might not be a 'Superman' yet, but they can teach you _how_ to be Superman. After that, its up to you."

"All I need to know was programmed in me by the G-gnomes." Kr snarled. "I don't need any help in becoming what I already am!"

He took to the air in another colossal leap. Not sooner had Kr's feel left that ground, however, then he felt a thin but strong cable wrap itself around his ankle. When the super-clone looked down, he saw the Robin on the end of said cable, being pulled up into the air with him.

"I'd really appreciate it if you pulled me up." He said. "Your landing would most definitely kill me."

Everything Kr knew about acceleration and velocity then flashed across his mind in less time then it took to blink a human eye, followed quickly by all the knowledge he had on the human body and what kind of forces it could withstand or that would liquefy it. He grabbed the cable around his ankle and pulled the Boy Wonder up into his arms just as his jump began to arc back downwards.

He hit the ground, causing let another crater; his path was pot marked with them, and unceremoniously dropped the Robin to the ground. But before he could jump away again, the little bird grabbed his ankle.

"Okay, the gnomes might have programmed you with all the technical skills you'll need." He conceded. "But that wasn't what made Superman, _Superman_. What made him the man he was, what made him the _hero_ he was, was his heart. His moral code, his ethics. And, I'm sorry Super-whatever-you-want-for-now, but that's just something that can't be programmed. Superman was… he was the kind of guy who would take time to humor a little boy's stupid request for an autograph, or listen to a pre-teen's complaints about his guardian. He was more than bright red underpants and giant-robot fights. He was… he was…"

Listening to the boy's ramblings, Kr began to understand. His body language, the set of his shoulder, his free hand balled into a fist as he spoke. These were signs of something the G-gnomes called 'internal conflict'. But, there was also grief, frustration, bitter-sweet affection, compassion… and other emotions Kr couldn't identify. He didn't _fully_ understand. He only met the Robin than night. He had _never_ met the first Superman or the Justice League. He only knew what was publicized about them, he didn't understand their interpersonal connections. But he was beginning to see one of them, at least.

"I understand." Kr offered a hand to help the Boy Wonder to his feet. "He was your friend."

Robin took the offered hand and pulled himself up. "Yes."

The socially appropriate response to that was, "I'm sorry for your loss."

…

Bruce had the tumbling mats out when Dick finally got home. He had stripped out of the bat-suit and exchanged it for a pair or sweatpants and T-shirt with boxers tape around his hands and feet. The shirt was already sweat-soaked and clinging to his chest and back when the Robin walked in. The mats slick from his dripping perspiration. Bruce had evidently been at this for a while. Probably from the very moment he got home from DC.

Back-flip, back-flip, two-foot kick, launch into standing positing, dive, shoulder roll, stand. Repeat. Back-flip, back-flip, two-foot kick, launch into standing positing, dive, shoulder roll, stand. Repeat.

Dick wasn't sure whether or not he should interrupt. Bruce had always been mercurial as a general rule. But ever since Clark passed away, his moods have been harder to anticipate. A simple inquiry such as 'How long have you been at this?' or 'Do you wanna break for water?' could illicit as volatile a reaction as suggesting Wayne Enterprises should enter into a merger with Lex Corp.

Back-flip, back-flip, two-foot kick, launch into standing positing, dive, shoulder roll, stand. Repeat. Back-flip, back-flip, two-foot kick, launch into standing positing, dive, shoulder roll, stand. Repeat.

Dick walked over to an equipment cabinet and pulled out the bottle of solvent that would allow for him to remove his mask. He spread the chemical over his skin, just above the domino mask's edge and pealed it back a bit. He spread a bit more just under the mask, then pealed a bit more. More solvent, peal a bit more. Solvent, peal. Finally the mask was off and Dick placed it on the mannequin reserved for his costume when he wasn't in it, along with his cape and gloves. Behind him, Bruce continued his tumbling practice.

Back-flip, back-flip, two-foot kick, launch into standing positing, dive, shoulder roll, stand. Repeat. Back-flip, back-flip, two-foot kick, launch into standing positing, dive, shoulder roll, stand. Repeat.

It was as Dick was unfastening his utility belt that the guardian finally spoke.

"Where is the clone now?" He asked, not interrupting his rhythm. Back-flip, back-flip, two-foot kick, launch into standing positing, dive, shoulder roll, stand. Repeat. Back-flip, back-flip, two-foot kick, launch into standing positing, dive, shoulder roll, stand. Repeat.

"Central City." Said Dick. "He went home with Wally. I figured that would be best since I know you wouldn't want Supey learning your identity. I couldn't invite him here."

It was then that Bruce finally halted his routine. He ran through several breathing exercises, inhaling deeply, holding the breath until the count of ten, then exhaling slowly. Inhale, 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10, exhale. In, hold it, and out. He grabbed a towel and dabbed at the perspiration dripping from his face. Then, he looked up and asked, "'Supey'?"

"His new name, for now." Dick explained, hanging his belt around the mannequin's waist. "Wally gave it to him. Since he doesn't like 'Superboy' and none of us are gonna call him 'Superman'."

Bruce hung his towel around his neck and stepped off the mats. He gave the young Robin a look that plainly said, 'I'm not calling him that.' Instead, he changed the subject. "Aqualad made an interesting suggestion after you left."

Dick stripped the rest of the way out of his uniform, down to his socks and boxers, leaving the suit crumpled on the floor. Alfred would have to clean (and mend) it later. "What did he say?"

"He suggested, very respectfully and in more words than were necessary, that its time we –the League- take away your baby blankets and let you three make your own team."

"The four of us." Dick corrected.

"Excuse me?" Bruce lifted an eyebrow.

"I, uh… I kinda promised Supey we'd teach him how to be like Superman –like Clark, I mean."

Bruce was silent a long moment. He fixed the Boy Wonder with one of his patented bat-glares. Not nearly as powerful or as frightening as the one he gave the clone hours earlier, but a powerful glare none the less. But Dick had lived with him for the past four years and was used to his glares. One might say he was building an immunity to them. The Robin did not balk.

Finally, the Batman growled, "He made the suggestion. That's all. The other mentors and I have not yet agreed."

"I think you should!" Dick insisted suddenly, with more passion than Bruce thought was applicable. "Let us use what you taught us. Or else, why teach us at all?"

The boy's logic was sound. Bruce usually responded well to logic. In fact, he had been considering putting the boys together on a unit. What Cadmus showed was that the bad guys were getting smarter and the League would need a smaller, quitter, more subtle team to do covert work for them. Robin and Aqualad had the perfect temperament and skills for such work. Kid Flash… not so much, but his speed and scientific knowledge would be useful.

But now the Dark Knight and acting head of the Justice League was hesitating. And he knew exactly why. Because Dick suggested including the clone. Clark's clone.

Dick studied his mentor's face for a long moment. He could guess the man's thoughts. "Its because of Suepy, isn't it?"

Bruce said nothing. But his silence was all the confirmation an apprentice to the World's Greatest Detective needed.

"I know what's bothering you." Said the boy. "You're still not over Clark's death and knowing that the bad guys cloned him from blood spilled at the scene of his murder pisses you off. But that's not Supey's fault. Supey's just a confused kid who wants to be a hero. He's no different than me, or KF, or Aqualad."

"He is not just like you." Bruce spoke finally. "He might look like a teenager slightly older than you, but he's only three months old, Dick. He's an infant. Who knows what kind of programming they gave him? He might look like Clark, but he's not him. You can't program a computer to feel and you can't program an artificial person with a code of ethics."

"Yeah, I know that." The boy insisted. "Wouldn't you rather be the one influencing him rather than letting someone like… oh, donno, say _Lex Luthor_? He was on his way to Metropolis before Wally and I intercepted him. How long do you think he would have lasted once he was on Lex' radar? He always wanted Superman under his thumb, do you think he would let his clone go just because he doesn't have all the same powers?"

Bruce remained silent.

"Alright then. Think about this for a moment: What would Clark have done?"

That question was expected. After all, after Dick exhausted all his other arguments, it was the last possible thing he could use against the Batman. What would Clark do? What would the obnoxiously naïve farm-boy do? The optimistic country bumpkin who loved everybody. Clark, who once flew from Metropolis to Los Angeles just to speak to a woman's ex-husband in order to get him to agree to joint custody. Clark, who, when the Batman threatened that he had placed a bomb on an innocent person, had figured out that it was actually the Batman himself.

What would Clark do upon finding out that he has been cloned?

He would probably hold out his hand and say with a smile, 'I'm not the last anymore.' Then there would be offers of help and pie (there was always time for pie). Clark Kent would have a hard time integrating the boy into his life, but his parents would help with that. He would fly the clone to the Kent's home in Kansas. There he would be immersed in the warm wholesome environment that had made Clark… _Clark_.

Could Bruce send the clone to live with Jonathan and Martha? Maybe. They would certainly take him in. But Clark had been there son. They loved him far more than Bruce ever did. His loss hit them ten times as hard. To send the clone to them… would that be rubbing it in their faces that their son was dead? Maybe. For once, the World's Greatest Detective had to admit he didn't know. But he couldn't send a possibly dangerous kryptonian clone there.

But Robin was right. He couldn't leave a young and highly corruptible meta with the potential for Clark's abilities running loose. If someone like Luthor did sink their claws into him…

What would Clark do?

Bruce had been asking himself that very question since he first laid eyes on the boy. But regardless of what he did or didn't do, Clark would have made sure the boy was taken care of.

"Give me three days."

…


	3. Egos

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

World Without

Chapter Three: Egos

Lois Lane, ace reporter for the Daily Planet, recipient of the Pulitzer Prize (twice), and plucky intrepid sleuth was hanging on for dear life.

It was one of those warm summer nights where the weather was clear, not a cloud in the sky and only a light breeze to ruffle people's hair. Well, maybe about two hundred feet below her is was a nice breeze. Up here on the sixtieth story the wind seemed like it was blowing full force, pulling her hair free of the ponytail it was supposed to be pulled back in and whipping the dark locks about her face. Her hands gripped the flag she was dangling from with an almost painful white-knuckled grip. But as much as her hands hurt, she still held on because she knew to let go would be a million time worse. She just had to hold on until…

Until what?

What was she holding on for? To be rescued? She was two hundred feet above the street, dangling from a flagpole jutting out from a building she wasn't even supposed to be in. Who or what would save her? The Metro-fire department? Maybe. If they could find a latter tall enough. The police? Unlikely. They might be able to maneuver a copter to get her, but honestly, the city could never justify the use of resources just to save her one, singular, (and politically irritating) life.

Why, then, was she prolonging this?

Her hands were fated to give out eventually. Unlike her late fiancé, Lois was not blessed with near-infinite endurance and stamina. Eventually, her hands would let go, whether she gave them permission or not. All she was doing was delaying the inevitable. Why not just let go and get it all over with? Maybe then she could finally see _him_ again.

And there was the crux of the issue right there.

When she finally met _him_ again, how could she face him knowing she had given up? Lois Lane was no quitter. The Lois Lane he knew. The Lois Lane he fell in love with. She was not the type of woman who would let go. She was the eldest daughter of a decorated army general. She was the type of woman who, when on a cruse that is attacked by terrorist, will knock one out from behind and pick-up his dropped AK-47 to protect, not only herself, but the other hostages as well. She was the type of woman who, when finding out an expensive dress given to her by Lex Luthor came with certain 'expectations', she would rather strip down to her skivvies (in the middle of a social function) and wear Clark's coat for the rest of the night rather than meet Luthor's 'expectations'.

That was the Lois Lane _he_ loved. That was the Lois Lane that had snuck into this office complex after hours to uncover its connection to weapons smugglers down in Hob's Bay whom had suddenly switched to smuggling both Venom and Kobra drugs instead. And that was the Lois Lane she still wanted to be when she finally saw _him_ again. Whenever and however it happened.

But her hands really did hurt.

And the wind really was strong. It was a clear summer night and down on the street the weather must be ideal for a romantic late-night stroll with someone special. But up here, two hundred feet off the ground, it didn't matter how calm the weather was, the winds were always fasted and harder the higher up you were. Fun fact she learned as Superman's fiancée.

He hair whipped around her face, stinging her eyes and getting in her mouth. She shut her eyes and spit her hair out. Maybe she should get it cut again. If she survived this, she would. It was impractical to keep this long.

Then she felt a finger slip.

Lois had a sudden burst of adrenaline, followed by a glittering moment of clarity as she realized she was no longer hanging but falling. In those first few seconds of freefall she experienced déjà vu, as she always did when falling to a seemingly immanent death. How many times had she fallen from extraordinary heights? Countless. But each time, _he_ saved her. He always saved her. But not anymore. This fall would be the fall that finally-

Something dark swung out and grabbed her. One strong muscular arm wrapping itself around her midsection and pressing her against an equally strong and muscular chest. And, for half of a heart beat, Lois thought it might be _him_ in a different costume. But then logic took over as the panic ebbed out of her system and rational thought began again. It wasn't him. Even without looking at the bat-symbol her face was now pressed against, she should have known it wouldn't be him. Because he was gone. For three months he had been gone. And yet, each morning when she woke up and looked at her engagement ring still on her finger, it felt like it was only yesterday.

They landed on a rooftop not far from the office complex.

Once again on solid ground, Lois took a few steps back and turned to look at the Batman properly. She hadn't spoken to him since the afternoon at the Hall, when he and the other mentors were supposed to be integrating their side-kicks into the League. But that had never panned out and she had been meaning to ask why. (Not that he would ever actually tell her. Clark would have, but Bruce… no.)

"Jesus Christ, Lois!" He said, breaking the silence and his character by speaking in his real voice. Not the low gravely baritone of Batman or the high flippant soprano of Bruce Wayne. No, it was the plain and ordinary tenor of just Bruce that spoke to her now. "Are you in that big of a hurry to see him again!?"

"No." Lois was quick to assure him. Perhaps a bit to quick. But it wasn't like she had started taking any new or more dangerous risks since Clark passed away. Just the same ones. "I haven't been doing anything different than what I've always done."

"The difference is…" Bruce growled, voice skating on the edge of Batman but still staying just within the realm of Bruce. "…that _he_'s not around to save you anymore. What if I hadn't been by tonight?"

"Well, it's a good thing you were." She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. "I just wish you could have saved my notes too."

"Damn it, woman! Are your stories more important to you than your life!?"

Oh, he shouldn't have asked that. Lois knew just the response to shut him up. "Not the stories, Bruce. _Justice_!"

The Caped Crusader shut his mouth for a moment. After a prolonged pause he said, "I'm taking you home. I have news for you that'll be hard to hear."

On that note, the Dark Knight once again wrapped his arm around the Intrepid Reporter's mid-section and began swinging them across town to her apartment.

Metropolis was a city of iron and glass. Most buildings were smooth and glossy, as if polished to a shine. There was a reason it was dubbed the 'City of Tomorrow'. For that very reason it had once been difficult for the Batman to swing through. Unlike Gotham there were very few (if any) gargoyles, grotesques, or other such artistic flares jutting out from the buildings for his grabbling gun to latch onto. But that was before the Doomsday monster tore through the city.

Now, almost every building had a construction crane atop it. Repairing or even completely rebuilding what once was there. There was once stretch of about eight blocks all going down the same street that nothing but naked scaffolding.

As the city's reconstruction progressed, more and more human remains were being unearthed. The bodies identified by dental records, the remains returned to their families for burial. Every day, the list of missing persons grew shorter and shorter. After three months everyone knew the chances of finding anyone still alive were slim to none. But at least finding their remains and knowing what happened to them gave the families closure. But there was one name on that list that would never be found. He would never be found because he had already been given his funeral and buried in the park under a different name. Clark Kent's body would never be found.

The Batman landed on Lois Lane's balcony and waited patiently while she fumbled with her keys. Why would someone have a lock that required keys on a balcony door? If you have to ask that question you must not live in a city with a resident superhero or super-villain –at least, not one that can fly.

Once inside, they both stood awkwardly, not exactly know what to do or say. Should she offer him a drink? But Bruce didn't drink –not while he was Batman anyway. Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy was supposed to be quite fond of vodka martinis. Something to eat, maybe? Something light and easy on the stomach –so he wouldn't get sick while swinging from building to building.

"Sit down, Lois." He said. "You'll want to be sitting for this."

So she did. Lois gave up any pretense of being a good hostess and sank down to set her ass squarely on her couch's center cushion. She gazed up at Bruce expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Bruce Wayne, the Batman, Clark's best friend. Yes, Jimmy Olsen was 'Superman's Pal' and Pete Ross was Clark Kent's childhood best friend. But Jimmy didn't know that Superman was actually Mr. Kent and Pete didn't know that Clark was Superman. Bruce knew him as both.

"The reason Robin and the rest of the side-kicks weren't inducted into the League was because they disobeyed orders and went to investigate a case rather than staying put as they were told."

Lois blinked at him. She waited one… two… three beats before she decided that what had just happened had actually happened. The Batman just shared 'secret' Justice League information with her. The Batman did not do that. Bruce did not do that. Clark did that every now and again, but never Bruce. Then came the question of _why_. Why did the Batman break his normal pattern and share with her information he normally wouldn't?

"Their investigation," he continued, "uncovered something none of us expected. A clone of Superman –of Clark."

The room fell silent. For half a moment Lois forgot to breath. Even the street noise outside seemed deafened by Bruce's report. Almost as if the whole world stopped for a moment to just experience the shock of that statement. Lois found herself wondering if this was what it might feel like to swoon. The silence between them dragged on for one… two… three… - …four… five… six beats.

"Lois…" Ventured the Caped Crusader, almost as if he were uneasy. Like he worried over her reaction to this news. The idea seemed so novel to her, the Batman worried over someone's feelings. Well, someone's other than his own. "When we decided to induct the boys into the League, it was _not_ to replace Clark. I said nothing can replace Superman and I meant it. But this clone… he was _made_ to replace Superman."

Lois listened with growing unease. Why was Bruce telling her all this? Was the clone dangerous? Was he after her for some reason? It was possible. Even without knowing that Superman was Clark Kent, her late fiancé, Lois Lane would always be connected to Superman and a target for his enemies and frienemies. So, she flat out asked, "Why are you telling me this? Am I in danger?"

"No." Bruce assured her, and that was confusing because why break his normal character and tell her all this if it weren't a matter of life and death? "Its just… I don't think I can keep a lid on this. He wasn't exactly cooperative when I met him and… and I could have handled it better. If I could keep this from you, I would have. But since I can't, I… I thought you'd rather hear about him from a friend rather than the news."

For a second time that night, Lois found herself blinking up at the Batman. Not only was he showing her great compassion when she always used to thing he thought of her as a liability for Clark, but… he was saying that he counted her as a friend. _That_ was the real shocking thing. To spite evidence to the contrary, the Batman liked to insist that he didn't have 'friends', only 'allies'. It was the single most flattering thing she'd ever heard and Lois knew exactly what to say in response. It wasn't 'thank you', it was…

"Clark would say you did the right thing."

…

Kr, or 'Supey' as he'd been called for the past three days, stood in the massive cavern that was supposed to be the main hangar of the Justice League's former base of operations –the Mount Justice Cave. Batman called them here. Supey, Kid Flash, Robin and Aqualad. And Supey was the only one in uniform.

During the second day of his stay with Kid Flash (civilian identity: Wallace West), Wally's mother had thrown them both out of the house charged with a mission of finding Supey some acceptable civilian clothes. Later, when they returned to the West family home (after a rather exciting shopping trip which included a battle with the Terror Twins in the middle of the mall), it was to find that Mrs. West had thrown out his solar suit.

True, the thing had come from Cadmus, but it had held up pretty decently in the fight against Blockbuster. Just a bit of the shoulder and collar was torn. It was certainly more durable than the Robin's or Kid Flash's costumes were. And it had the shield on it.

Supey spent the evening sifting through all the bags in the West family's black trash bin until he found the suit. He asked Mrs. West if she could repair the tear for him, and after much tutting and many disapproving frowns she finally relented, washed the suit, and laid the collar out on her sewing machine. After it was mended, Supey took fabric dye to the white suit in the primary shades of blue and red. Red shoulders. Blue sleeves and chest. The blue of the chest coming down to a sharp V, the point of which ended just bellow where his naval would have been if he had one. Red legs. The S on the chest was already red, but he filled in the empty space inside the shield with yellow. Red bracers with yellow arm-bands completed the look.

When he was done, Supey had a suit similar to the first Superman's. Form fitting, in the same colors, but without the underpants on the outside, or the impractical cape. The civilian clothes he bought with Wally were okay, and they suited him for day-to-day wear. Superman couldn't combat the forces of evil in jeans and a T-shirt. This was the perfect Super-suit for him. No capes. No underpants. No offence.

So, at the close of the third day, when Wally exclaimed with a wide smile, "Dude, Bats wants to see us! Rob says good news!" Supey changed out of his civilian black and red S-shirt and blue jeans, and into his red and blue Super-suit. If Batman wanted to see him, Kid Flash and Aqualad, then it was Justice League business, which called for his uniform. He did think it was a bit odd that Wally didn't change, but then again, Supey learned pretty quickly that the speedster wasn't exactly the most responsible hero in the League.

Then he got to the Cave and saw that Robin and Aqualad were also in civvies. Suddenly, Supey felt like the odd-man-out.

The four of them stood, listening as the Dark Knight explained that this base hadn't been used in four years, but they were renovating it and giving it to them to use as a base of operations for their own Team. They would act under the supervision of the Justice League, but would not be documented as an official part of the League. Their missions would be covert. They would not draw attention to themselves if they could avoid it. (If the Batman glared pointedly at Supey when he said that, the kryptonian was already to incensed to notice.)

"Black ops? Covert?" Echoed the super-clone, his hands curled into fists at his sides. "I'm _Superman_! I do _not_ skulk in the shadows like the common criminals I fight!"

The room went silent. Even the Green Lantern and Red Tornado paused in their work to stare at the boy. The whited-out eye slits of the Batman's cowl narrowed at the clone and the other boys each took a small step back from the self-proclaimed 'Superman'. It wasn't just that he was rejecting the olive branch they adults of the League were offering them, but he had to go and insult the very way the Dark Knight went about his heroing. Clark never looked down on him for fighting from the shadows, keeping a low profile, and using fear and intimidation –to cow the villains with their own tricks.

Supey was instantly reminded of how much the man had scared him three nights ago outside of Cadmus. But he tried to push that fear back down. The first Superman wouldn't have been frightened of a normal human with no powers who had to rely on fancy gadgets and trickery to win battles. With a conscious effort, Supey forced himself not to be afraid and continued, "If the League wants my help, fine! But it'll be on _my_ terms, not yours! My predecessor founded your club, the least you can do is grant me full membership."

The Batman closed the distance between himself and the boy. Looming over the clone, he glared down at him. He was nothing like Clark. Young, immature, angry, entitled. Everyone in the League had earned their membership, they were not given it. League memberships were not inherited. Dick said all this boy needed was guidance, but from what Bruce had seen thus far, what he really needed was a good ass-kicking. He was nothing like Clark and he was no Superman.

"League memberships are earned." The Caped Crusader said flatly.

"I'm Superman!" The boy insisted.

"You're a punk kid in a costume." The Dark Knight shot back, voice low and deadly, reverberating with silent threats and barely contained ire. He jabbed a finger at the red S on the boy's chest. Red, yellow and blue, Clark's colors and Clark's symbol. But he wasn't Clark. "You don't know what this means or what it stands for. You never met the _real_ Superman; you were not trained by him. Your only claim to his name is through a trick of fate. But you are dragging that name through the mud with your behavior. Be thankful that –thus far- your infantile tantrums have not been witness by anyone outside the League. If the real Superman could see you, _he would be ashamed_."

More silence followed the Caped Crusader's words.

Whether they agreed with him or not, that was a bit harsh. As Bruce had told Dick three nights ago, the super-clone might look like he was in his mid-teens, but he was really only three months old. An infant. No one would scold a real infant like that. And perhaps that was the crux of the issue. The boy not a natural relative of Clark's. He was not Clark's son following in his late father's footsteps. He was not an estranged cousin that miraculously survived Krypton's destruction and found his way to Earth. He was not Clark's protégé, hand-picked before his death to carry on the Superman legacy. He was an artificially created person, made from DNA collected at the site of Clark's final demise.

"I don't have to take that from you!" The boy snarled up at the Dark Knight.

He glanced around at the others gathered in the Cave. Black Canary, Red Tornado, Green Lantern, Aqualad, Kid Flash, and Robin. They had all moved back, giving the Batman and the super-clone a wide birth. None of them wanted to take sides. In that moment, Supey realized that he had no one backing him. Of course, the adults would side with Batman (though, it didn't look like they were going to). And the other boys, while they had freed him, they still barely knew each other. They were not necessarily friends. There was nothing keeping him here. He had no reason to stay. He didn't need the League's approval to be Superman. They did not own a monopoly on all things heroic.

"Screw this!" He growled. "I'm outta here!"

Turning on his heels, the super-clone marched to the nearest zetta-tube. 'Recognize: Superboy B-04', registered the computer as he entered. As the kryptonian's body was enveloped by the golden glow of the zetta-teleporter they could clearly hear him snarl, "That's 'Superma-'!"

Then he was gone.

Robin's face fell into the palm of his hand. First Speedy, now Supey. What was it with the big kids and problems with authority? Now what were they going to do? Could he convince the super-clone to come back with him a second time? Or should they just cut their losses and stop pushing him? Wait for him to come around to them. If he was anything like Clark he would realize that he was being unreasonable and come back.

Of course, Bruce hadn't exactly helped matters much (if at all). Maybe Dick should handle all things super-clone from now on. Bruce was clearly to emotionally compromised to think clearly and behave rationally. He couldn't separate himself from this case enough to even talk to Supey without becoming upset and upsetting the clone. As he said so himself, the boy was basically an infant. You can't scold him like any other hero that needed a good talkin' to. He had to be handled with greater forethought and tact. A good dollop more empathy for his situation and point of view wouldn't hurt either.

From the very moment of his conception, the clone was taught that he would be the new Superman. That all he'd ever known. It determined the way he thought, the way he perceived things and the way he acted. In his mind, he was 'Superman'. But Batman (Superman's partner) was telling him that he was not. Of course the boy would become indignant and hostile at that. Bruce was basically contradicting everything he'd been told to believe from the moment of his conception.

All this, the Robin was pretty sure the World's Greatest Detective already knew. But knowing that still didn't change his behavior. When the Dark Knight looked at the super-clone, all he saw was a perversion of his best friend's memory.

Footsteps coming towards tem from the corridor interrupted the tense atmosphere left in the wake of Supey's melodramatic exit. The three side-kicks looked up to see the Martian Manhunter escorting another, younger, martian into the hangar.

"I'm sorry. I hope we're not interrupting anything."

…


	4. Public Debut

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

World Without

Chapter Four: Public Debut

It was one of those rare quiet Friday mornings in Metropolis. The early summer sun climbed over the city skyline –dramatically altered since Doomsday's attack- and illuminated the grassy lawns and paved trails of Centennial Park. Sunlight glinted off of Superman's memorial statue in the center of the park. Feet parted, standing confidently, one fist on his hip, the other arm supporting a balled eagle. Even in death, the image of Superman watched over his city.

The alarming and unwelcome sound of rapid gunfire shattered the early morning serenity, however.

Two men in a stolen taxicab drove illegally over the park lawn. They pulled right up to the Superman memorial and emptied almost a full magazine, firing on the bronze memorial statue.

"Ain't it grand not havin' no meddlin' alien all up in our business no more." One of them sighed, hanging his head out the window to gaze up at the tiny dents in the statue left by the gunfire.

"Too right." Agreed his companion. "Us 'small business' types would'a never got the 'loan' 'a this ride with the big S around."

The first one pulled on his companion's sleeve, pointing to a jogger coming up the path on the opposite side of the statue. She wasn't overly tall, slender, with supple arms and mid-rift. Hair, blond and curly, pulled up in to a ponytail. It bounced from side to side a she jogged. Ear buds from an iPod in her ears. She probably hadn't heard the hoods just opposite the statue from her.

"She got some prime 'assets', man!" Agreed his companion. "I'd invest in what she's sellin'…"

He kicked the cab back into Drive and went barreling down the path after her. Honking his horn to get her attention, driving just slow enough not to run her down.

The woman glanced behind her frantically, then began running faster –as if she could actually out-run a car. But the driver just picked up his speed, still making sure he was slow enough so as not to catch her with the front bumper and kill her, but not letting her get away.

"Whoo! Look at 'er go!" His companion whooped. "She got some nice legs, ain't she!"

In a panic, the woman screamed, "Help! Somebody, please!"

That was when it happened.

He came falling out of the sky, like a red and blue bolt from heaven. There was the screech of rubber tires on the paved jogging trail. Picking the woman up with one arm and placing her behind himself, while the other hand came down on the hood of the cab. There was the sound of buckling metal and breaking glass. The bright yellow hood crumpled, the windshield shattered. The two men screamed like pre-pubescent girls. A single tire went rolling away across the lawn. Then, all was quiet but for the soft hiss of leaking coolant.

"…Unnghh… Oh, man…" Groaned one of the thugs.

"That's 'Man of Steel' to you!" Said the red and blue clad rescuer.

The woman blinked at her hero. Everything happened so fast, her mind was only just catching up with her. The first thing her eyes registered was the red and yellow S bold on his chest. As a resident of Metropolis she had seen that symbol countless times. Pasted in the cover of newspapers and magazines, plastered on billboards, projected on the TV, spray-painted in the streets. The S-shield –Superman's symbol. But he couldn't possibly be… He looked so young!

"You… you can't be…" She stammered out. The appropriate response, whether he was Superman or not should have been 'Thank you'. But for some reason those words just didn't make it from her brain to her mouth.

"Superman." He confirmed. The self-proclaimed Superman strolled almost casually to the passenger side of the cab and ripped the warped door from the rest of the body.

"Ch-chill, man! We won't be givin' ya no trouble!" The one in the passenger seat assured him.

"Good." The Superman reached in and plucked their guns from their hands and crushed them into a mesh of indistinguishable metal.

It was then that the police showed up. Jumping from their squad car. "We heard gunfire! What- Who…?"

Both officers came up short, pausing in their steps when they saw him. Clad in a form-fitting body suit of red and blue, the S-shield bold on his chest. Dark haired, blue eyed and square jawed. He looked younger than they remembered him. But there was no mistaking that face. That symbol.

"Book 'em, boys." He said, before jumping away. "Me? I've got a never ending battle with my name on it!"

They were left behind to just stare after him.

"That couldn't have been…" One officer trailed off.

"Hey, he's Superman in my book!" Said the jogger he saved. "Even though he seemed like just a boy."

…

It was late morning, almost afternoon, when Bruce finally returned to the Batcave. He felt tired even though (by his standards) he hadn't done much. That meant he was probably depressed. Which in turn meant that he was probably feeling ever so slightly remorseful over his, once again, poor handling of the super-clone. Probably. But he was _definitely_ missing Clark.

Hooking his thumbs up under his mask, Bruce pulled down his cowl and ran a hand through his hair. What would Clark say? '_Go easy on him, Bats. He's just a kid_.' How many times had he said that to him while training Dick? Countless. Would he say the same thing about the Caped Crusader's treatment of the clone, though? Or, would the Superman hold the counterfeit kryptonian to a higher standard because of his powers and the danger they represented if handled irresponsibly. Bruce held everyone to the same standard, regardless or powers, training, or lack there of. The exact same impossibly high standard he held himself to. Batman did not grade on a curve.

But Clark did. And that boy was Clark's clone. (This seriously threw a new perspective on the Nature vs. Nurture argument. If he hadn't already been so emotionally compromised by the boy's mere existence, he might have made an interesting case study of it.) Storming out like a self-entitled brat certainly wasn't like Clark at all. One point Nurture.

But then the Caped Crusader had to pause and wonder if it had been wise to just let the kid leave? True, pursuing him, possibly having to subdue him, and dragging him back to a JLA base certainly wouldn't have turned him over to the Batman's way of thinking and probably would have driven him farther from the path they wanted someone with his powers to take. But at the same time, leaving him unsupervised, in Metropolis (as the zetta-logs showed he went), where Lex Luthor called home, could prove even more dangerous. In hindsight Bruce was glad he'd warned Lois about him. Maybe she could keep a look out and act as a buffer between Luthor and super-clone.

Luckily, the genius, billionaire, tycoon, and 'philanthropist' was out of town for the week. That bought the good guys a bit of time to try and get the clone back under their wing. But Lex's business trip wouldn't last forever. Eventually, he would have to come home. Eventually, he would meet the Super- _boy_? Certainly _not_ Superman! Superboy. Eventually, Lex would meet the Superboy. It was almost an inevitability. The sun rose in the east, and anything with 'Super' in the name crossed paths with Lex Luthor.

Bruce opened his 'Hero Closet', a cabinet in the cave, hidden behind a false wall (lead) and guarded by three layers of security. Dick called it a 'vault', but it was nothing so grand. It was just the place where he kept the necessary equipment that went along with his contingency plans for suppressing the League if they ever went rouge. From the closet, he pulled out one item.

A box.

A small lead box.

Lifting the lid, the darkness of the cave was pushed back by the ominous green glow of the stone within. A stone not native to Earth. A broken fragment of the late planet Krypton, irradiated by the explosion and transformed from a simple fragment of the planet's continental shelf, into a radioactive poison. It was green death to kryptonians. Even humans that have been exposed to it for long periods of time have been known to develop cancers and other illnesses.

Clark had given him this fragment personally.

He just appeared in the cave one evening, looking a little sick, and holding this lead box in his hands. He said, '_I want the means to stop me to be in the hands of a man I can trust with my life._'

Academically, Bruce knew Clark loved everyone and was usually willing to trust anyone. But that had been the first time the Man of Steel ever told _Bruce_ that he trusted the Caped Crusader with his _life_. They had worked together many times before. Their first case with Magpie, that strange incident of vampires in the Deep South, the Joker thinking he could make it in Metropolis… But that night. When Clark admitted to having such a deep trust in the Dark Knight. That was when Batman and Superman became the World's Finest partners.

"If necessary, could you have used it, sir?"

Bruce did not turn to look at Alfred. He heaved a deep sigh. That very question was one he asked himself over and over again consistently since the moment Clark first gave it to him. Then he died and the point became moot. Now there was a new kryptonian running around and he found himself asking that same question again. If necessary, could he use the deadly kryptonite fragment against a child?

…

Lois met up with Jimmy in the Starbucks a half-block down from the Daily Planet office. They hadn't planned to meet-up, it just sort of happened that way. Lois didn't even notice him calling her name until he tapped her on the shoulder. She was still in a bit of a daze from the shocking revelation Bruce brought her. Clark had been cloned. Somewhere out there was a man who looked exactly like her late fiancé, with all his powers, but the Batman couldn't control him.

Perhaps 'control' was the wrong word. Goodness knows the World's Finest were partners, not superior and subordinate. But the way in which Bruce had said, 'He wasn't exactly cooperative when I met him…' that gave her cause to worry. What if Clark's clone turned out to be a villain? What if he was worse than Zod? Lois was so absorbed in her worrisome thoughts that that she almost smacked Jimmy in the face when he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Whoa there, Ms. Lane!" He took a step back.

Lois blinked. "Oh. Sorry, Jimmy. I was just… thinking…" Her coffee was placed on the hand-off and she sipped it conservatively while heading for the exit. "Did you need something?"

"Uh, yeah. There, uh… there's someone at your desk that you really wanna see. I mean, if you feel up to it."

As she walked back to the office, Lois pondered why Jimmy would think she wasn't up to seeing an informant. The Intrepid Reporter Lois Lane had always been a workaholic, even before Superman's death and Clark Kent's 'disappearance'. But after her hero died and her fiancé 'disappeared' Lois threw herself even more into her work (as if such a thing were possible).

She sidestepped the plaque just off from the Planet's doorstep. A solid sheet of steel, plated in gold. It sported the S-shield, large and bold in the center, with the words 'In memory of Superman. Killed on this spot while defending Metropolis'. It took up a little over half of one sidewalk square, but no one would walk over it. Adults sidestepped it, children hopped over it, mothers and mail carriers pushed their strollers and letter carts around it. The plague was three months old, plated in gold –a soft metal- but aside from a thin layer of grime that was unavoidable in a big city, it looked as new as the day it had been put down. Lois tried not to look at it as she passed by and into the Planet's lobby.

Then the elevator opened onto her floor. Lois took one step out of the elevator. Looked to her desk… and froze.

He was sitting in her chair. Legs up on the desk. A copy of today's paper in his hands. Wearing a form-fitting red and blue unitard. The same colors as Clark's but without the provocative kryptonian overpants and the cape. He was younger than she expected. Bruce hadn't said anything to make her think he would be a kid. She was imagining a man. She was imagining Clark, just with a different personality. She had not expected a child. She suddenly heard Bruce's words with a different perspective.

'_If I could keep this from you, I would have. I thought you'd rather hear about him from a friend._'

He wasn't warning her about a clone of her late fiancé, he was warning her about an (equivalent) _offspring_ of her late fiancé. That and looking for either justification or forgiveness in his shoddy handling of the boy, possibly both.

Lois stood rooted to the spot, staring at him. He looked so much like Clark. The same dark hair, that prominent brow, those luminous crystal eyes, high cheek bones, square jaw… it was all Clark. He was the spiting image of Clark's old high school photos. If it weren't for the costume he wore, Lois thought he'd look right at home on the 'Most Likely to Succeed' page of the Smallville High yearbook. Her vision blurred and Lois reached her free hand up to dab at her eyes, only to discover that she was crying. How embarrassing. She hadn't cried at work since the funeral.

Then he turned to look at her and Lois' coffee slipped from her hand. It spilled all over her white Gastone Lucioli pumps, but she didn't notice.

He stood, crossed the bullpen to her. Bent down to pick up her now empty paper cup. Crumpled it in his hands and tossed it in the trash. Making an almost perfect basket in the trashcan on the opposite side of the room.

"Lois Lane?" He asked. And it was all she could do to nod. "I'm Superman."

Beside her, Jimmy muttered, "Seems more like a 'Superboy' to me."

Those crystal eyes flashed with irritation and the Superman-Boy turned his attention to the photographer. He grabbed the front of Jimmy's shirt, pulling the man in close so that they were eye to eye. Their noses almost touching. The kryptonian clone growled, "Listen, pal, _don't_ call me 'Superboy'! Got it?"

Jimmy Olsen was a veteran sideliner of Superman's battles. He might not have 'seen it all', but he had seen enough action and been placed in enough near-death situations to not be cowed by a teenaged boy. He glared back at the Super_boy_, refusing to back down. Superman had been his pal. He died defending the city and the people who lived in it. He was older than Jimmy, and worlds more powerful. But he never made the industrious young photographer ever feel 'small'. This kid –thus far- seemed like nothing more than a punk in tights. Using his strength and S-shield to intimidate. He was no Superman.

Since neither boy looked ready to back down, it fell on Lois to diffuse the situation. She gave a sigh of exasperation and brushed past them as if their little penis-measuring contest didn't matter in the least (and in the grand scheme of things it probably didn't). And, sure enough, at her passing, the super-clone's head turned, his attention following her. He was sitting at her desk when she arrived and introduced himself to her when she walked in. Obviously, Lois was the reason he was here, not to pick bones with Jimmy.

"I don't have time for this." She said, crossing the bullpen and sitting down at her desk. "The real Superman was at least old enough to shave."

The young kryptonian leaned over her computer. "Alright, I'll level with you. I'm actually a clone of Superman. I was made to replace him in the event of his death. I'm Superman, just not the _first_ Superman."

Lois studied him over the top of her computer monitor. That young face, so much like Clark's but without his experiences. Those earnest crystal eyes, a shade of blue not found on Earth. His eyes silently pleaded with her, asking for something he desperately needed but hadn't been able to find anywhere else. She remembered Bruce muttering, 'I could have handled it better.' and realized in a sudden moment of clarity that it was validation he wanted.

He claimed to be Superman, but Batman (and possibly the rest of the Justice League, Lois wasn't sure) had told him 'no'. You are no Superman. So, who then would he turn to but the very reporter who have named the square-jawed hero in the first place. Lois Lane, Intrepid Reporter working for the Daily Planet and part of the Super-entourage.

From what she had seen thus far, Lois agreed with them. He wasn't Superman. But he could be. The attatude could be attributed to his lack of experience and age. He looked to be roughly sixteen. But that couldn't possibly be right since the only time she could think of where it would have been possible to obtain viable DNA samples from Clark was only three months ago. So, this kid couldn't possibly be older than that. He might look like a teenager, but in reality, he was just a baby. And baby's needed looking after, care, comfort and positive reinforcement. All of which were things that Bruce Wayne, the Batman, was not very good at.

He came here looking for validation. He wanted Lois Lane of the Daily Planet, to confirm that he was the new Superman.

Lois would _not_ publish anything to that extent. Not until the kid showed her that he was worthy of Clark's legacy. But she could offer him an olive branch.

"Tell ya what," She began. "I spilled my coffee just now and need a new one. How about I take you to the local Starbuck and you can tell me more about yourself."

"Like an interview?" Asked the boy.

"Maybe." She admitted. "Not sure yet. But I'll treat you to a caramel apple spice –with whipped cream." Clark's favorite drink.

"What's that?"

…

That evening one of the news' top stories was of a woman who claimed to be saved by 'Superman'. They showed a short interview with her, plus comments from the first police officers on the scene. There then followed speculation on whether or not he was the real Superman, and debates over whether such a thing was possible.

So, the boy had gone public. As Bruce suspected, he couldn't keep a lid on it. Now the whole world knew there was a new 'Superman' out there. How long would it take Luthor to get a hold of him? Thank goodness Lois was out there.

Bruce was so absorbed in the Superman-Boy story that he almost missed the short cliff-notes mention of freak tornados tearing through Happy Harbor, Rhode Island. He would also have to have a talk with Dick when he got home. High-profile shenanigans like that were counter productive to covert operations.

…

The super-clone ended up spending a great deal of the day with Lois. She phoned the office and told Perry she was working on a new story in addition to her smuggling one. What that story was going to be, she wasn't really sure. All she _was_ sure of was that she couldn't just leave Clark's clone to his own devices.

He might look like a teenager, just on the cusp of manhood. But he was not. He was only three months old. Just a baby. And babies needed looking after. That, and he had been cloned from Clark. Made from Clark's flesh, and Clark's blood. In essence, he was Clark's child. And perhaps Lois found some comfort in that. That there was still some piece of Clark left living in this world.

That being said, Lois still surprised herself when she asked, "Do you have a place to stay in the city?"

And when he replied that he did not, she downright _shocked_ herself when she offered, "I have an empty guest room. You can stay with me when you need."

…


	5. Team Up

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

World Without

Chapter Five: Team-Up

The boys lounged on the couch in the Cave's common area, watching the morning news. Since that first story with the jogger in the park it seemed like there was a new 'Superman' story every day. He never stayed to talk to the police, let alone the press, so all the public really had was speculation. But the trio knew it was Supey.

Lois assured the League that they didn't need to worry. Everything was fine. She was keeping an eye on the boy. But that still didn't stop Dick from worrying. After all, how could Lois possibly protect him from Luthor? It didn't help matters that the only time any of them had seen Supey since he walked out of the Cave that day, was when he turned up at Wally's home in Central City to collect his twenty S-shield T-shirts and fifteen pairs of blue jeans. Aside from that –nothing.

M'gann drifted over from the kitchen where she was attempting to make a new batch of cookies –this time without burning them. She leaned over the back of the couch, craning her neck between Wally and Kaldur.

"Is that about your friend?" She asked. "The one cloned from Superman? I don't understand why he didn't want to join the Team. It seems like he wants to help people."

There was an awkward silence. Then, Robin ventured, "He's… got some personal issues to work out."

"Oh." She said, not fully understanding the subtext beneath that statement. "Well, I'd still like to meet him. We should take a field trip to Metropolis some time."

Whatever any of the three boys would have said to that suggestions got cut off before the words even escaped their lips. Red Tornado's voice sounded over the Cave's intercom system, informing the young heroes to report to the briefing room. Batman had a mission for them. Their first mission as a Team.

…

The sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen roused Lois from her sleep. God damn it! When she had offered the super-clone the use of her guestroom, she failed to remember that Clark needed very little sleep and had the obnoxious habit of waking up before the crack of dawn. He used to pass it off as an old pattern from when he lived on the farm. Wake up with the sun, do his chores, before going off to school. But no. Apparently, kryptonians just rose with the sun.

With a yawn and a groan, Lois rolled out of bed, stretched and threw a robe on over the Smallville High jersey she wore as a nightshirt.

The Kid was in the kitchen when she stumbled out of her bedroom, still in an early morning stupor. Wearing a set of matching pajama shirt and pants, both sporting the S-shield. Jeez, even his PJs had to have the super-S on them. He was waiting in front of the microwave for a slice of last night's apple pie to finish heating, staring at one of the photos on her refrigerator door.

He did that sometimes, she noticed. Just stand and stare at pictures of Clark. Lois hadn't told him that her late fiancé was actually Superman. The Kid had no reason to be so fixated on the image of Clark Kent. Unless… did he see past the gelled-back hair, thick glasses, and bad posture? Could the super-clone recognize his genetic-parent underneath the pretense? If so, why didn't he say anything? Or, did he simply note some slight resemblance between Clark Kent and the first Superman and find it interesting. After all, Clark Kent grew up on a farm in Kansas. Superman was a strange visitor from another planet. They couldn't be the same person.

The timer on the microwave beeped. He looked away from the photo of Clark and pulled out his pie.

"Is that all you're eating?" Asked Lois.

The Kid just shrugged. "It's all I want."

At that statement, something Lois refused to call 'maternal instinct' kicked in and she pulled the pie from his hands, shoving it back in the 'fridge. "Pie is not a breakfast, young man."

And it was a little unnerving how much like Martha she sounded to her own ears. Lois was channeling her inner Ma Kent. Before the Kid could protest, she pulled a box of Cheerios down from the pantry, along with a clean bowl, and plunked them down on the counter in front of the super-clone.

He gave her an indignant pout of protest. But Lois just glared back. She was the daughter of a military general, widowed-fiancée to the first Superman –one of the most powerful beings on the planet-, and had faced down death more times than can be counted. She was not intimidated by an incensed looking teenager. Besides, he woke her up! That was near unforgivable. Not being allowed to eat sweets for breakfast was a light punishment!

He growled wordlessly. Picked up the bowel and cereal and went to sit at the table. Lois smiled behind his back, fished the milk and orange juice out of the 'fridge, and brought them to the table with her. It was a little funny. He was Clark's clone, but his behavior was really more in keeping with Lois' own. She would never say it out loud, but sometimes it felt like he wasn't Clark's clone, but rather their child. At least, it was nice to pretend he was.

Was she transferring?

Probably.

But Lois didn't really care. He was the last piece of Clark left living in this world. For that, she would take care of him in whatever way she could. Like Jonathan and Martha had always wanted a child, and then found Clark. She had wished desperately to meet Clark again. The Kid wasn't Clark, but he was made from Clark, like a son. Clark's son. That sort of made him her son by proxy.

"Lois, how come you haven't published an interview with me yet?"

Of course, that didn't mean he was going to start calling her 'mom' at all. And, quite frankly, Lois wasn't sure if she'd like that or not. The word 'mom' made her feel old. Old and fat. With a mini-van and a soccer team in tow. Ew. That was so un-Lois like.

"I've been busy with another story." She told him. And it was only a partial lie. She was working on a somewhat perplexing smuggling story. But mostly, she had not published anything about the young 'Superman' yet, because she just didn't want to give him Clark's title. He was Clark's clone, Clark's son. But that did not make him Clark's heir. He had not yet earned his coronation.

"What are you working on?" He pressed, probably assuming that the sooner she finished with whatever it was, the sooner she would name him the new Superman.

Lois paused, thinking. She and Clark used to work together all the time. Not just as Lois and Clark, but also as Superman and Lois Lane. Maybe this could be a good opportunity to let the Kid prove himself. After all, rescuing women from rapists and children from tenement fires was heroic, but Gangbuster did that, Matrix did that, Booster Gold sometimes did that –but none of them were Superman.

So, it was with the idea of giving the Kid a chance to prove himself that Lois got up from the table and retrieved her iPad. She opened up several tabs with all the research and evidence she compiled so far and explained, "The Bakerline Marina on the west side of Hobsneck has always been notorious for arms smuggling. A couple weeks ago, one of the bigger gun smuggling organizations brought in a shipment of Venom instead. You do know what Venom is, right?"

The Kid paused for a moment and Lois wondered if he was sifting through his programmed knowledge to find the answer. Finally, he said, "It's a highly addictive steroidal compound."

"Right." She nodded. "Well, this one shipment never made it to the streets and after that, _all_ shipments of the stuff stopped all together. I mean all shipments. Not just here in Metropolis, my confidential informant says _everywhere_."

"Well, maybe the League finally shut them down." Suggested the Kid.

Lois just shook her head. "If they did that, a JLA spokes person would have issued a press statement. Something else is going on."

The Kid's crystal eyes scrolled through her notes and evidence. Shipping manifests, lists of crewman, flow charts, maps. Finally he looked up. "Venom is made on a private island in the Caribbean Sea called Santa Prisca."

"Yes…" Lois confirmed slowly, wondering what he was getting at. When she decided to show him her story, she meant for him to maybe accompany her on a trip to investigate the docs or maybe interview a few shipmen. With some Super-muscle as back-up it would definitely be easier to get people to talk.

"Then I'll just go to Santa Prisca and see what's going on." He stood from the table. Put his half-eaten bowl of cereal in the sink. Disappeared into the guest room to change.

Lois knocked on the closed door. "Are you sure that's such a good idea? Venom is made by Bane and he's a pretty dangerous bad guy. You're still new at this, Kid."

"I'll be fine." He called through the door. "I'm Superman."

"How are you even going to get there? You can't fly."

The door opened, there was the super-clone. Clad in his red and blue suit, with its 90s style V-waist in place of the provocative overpants. The S-shield bold on his chest in red and yellow over its background of blue. "I'll just jump there. I can cover a lot of ground that way. Then I'll just swim the rest. If I leave right now, I can be there a little after nightfall."

…

Aqualad gave them the O.K., motion and heat sensors were gimmicked to not detect them. Miss Martian brought the bio-ship in to the second drop-zone. They changed to the appropriate stealth colors and dropped from the ship's under-hatch.

/_'Telepathic link, established_.'/ They all heard the martian girl announce in their heads.

/_'Continue on to the factory_.'/ Came Kaldur's mental voice. /_'I shall rendezvous with you en rout._'/

The only warning they got was a sort of whistling sound to their ineffectual hearing. Then Kid Flash shouted, "Look out!"

The three of them scattered just in time, before something big, and heavy, and red and blue hit the ground in the exact spot they had just vacated. The ground buckled under the thing, forming an impressive crater and a cloud of debris was kicked up. When the broken underbrush and kicked-up dirt finally settled, they could see clearly that what had almost hit them was a person.

"Supey!?" Exclaimed the Kid Flash. "What are you doing here?"

"Causing a seismic event." Coughed the Robin as he picked himself up and brushed jungle debris off himself.

The super-clone blinked at them, crystal eyes wide with shock. "Robin? Kid Flash? What are you doing here?"

"What are we doing here?" Echoed the Boy Wonder. "What are _you_ doing here!?"

Before the young kryptonian had the chance to reply, he was cut off by an overly cheerful and obnoxiously friendly feminine voice. "Oh, you must be the new Superman I've heard so much about!"

Supey turned to look at her. Green skinned and red haired. Wearing a black body-suit with the Martian Manhunter's red X over her breast, a midnight-blue cloak over her shoulders. He pointed to the girl, but turned to look at the boys, "I don't know this one."

/_'Robin, Kid Flash, Miss Martian, what's wrong?_'/ Kaldur's voice asked in their heads, sounding concerned.

/_'Supey just showed up_.'/ Answered the Kid Flash. /_'No idea why, though_.'/

"Supey, what re you doing here?" Robin asked again. He hoped the super-clone wasn't suddenly working with the bad guys and here as security. He did not look forward to having to take down Clark's clone. Of course, if Supey were to turn to the dark side, the likely fiend to convert him would be Luthor, not Bane. But hey. The world worked in mysterious ways. And Batman did always say never to rule anything out until all the evidence was in.

"I'm following up on a case." Said the kryptonian. "What are you doing here?"

"We're on a mission for Batman." Said the martian girl, more than happy to help.

The Robin shot her a dirty look for sharing information with someone outside of the Team but said nothing. "What case, Supey?"

"Drug smuggling in the Hobsneck. What mission?"

"Suspicious activity at the Venom factory." Answered the martian. "It sounds like your case and our mission are connected. We should work together! I'm Miss Martian, by the way. Pleased to meet you!"

But the super-clone had stopped paying attention to her. His head jerked to the side, as if listening to something only he could hear. The snap of a twig. Heavy boots on the jungle floor. The heartbeats of several people out in the darkness. "There's someone out there."

"I'll check it out." Kid Flash switched his goggled to the infrared and scanned the jungle. Sure enough, he saw three different sets of goons heading to intercept one another. It was hard to tell, seeing as how they all appeared as just vaguely human shaped red and yellow blobs, but it didn't look like they were very chummy with one another. All this he relayed to his companions (minus Supey) telepathically.

/_'Steer clear, and continue on to the factory_.'/ Advised Aqualad.

But Robin was already gone. Disappeared. Melting into the shadows and the night with nothing to announce his exit but that ominous laugh of his.

"Damn it!" Kid Flash took off after him.

The super-clone and Miss Martian were left behind. Supey, feeling like he'd only heard half of a conversation –and, in fact, he had.

The martian girl gave him an awkward smile. "I guess we're gonna be working together after all. I'll link you to the rest of us."

"What does that m- Agh!" He staggered back from her, one hand going to his head. "What the hell was that!? What did you do to me!?"

/_'Sounds like Supey's online_.'/ He heard Kid Flash comment matter-of-factly inside his mind.

/_'Ooh, bad idea._'/ That was Robin's voice. /_'This might remind him of his time being controlled by the G-gnomes and could trigger a post-traumatic response._'/

/_'Oh no! I'm sorry, I didn't know_!'/ That would be Miss Martian.

"Where are you!?" Shouted the super-clone. Both hands gripping his head now. He staggered about the clearing created by his landing, crystal eyes glancing around wildly, trying to find sources for the voices he now heard. "_Get out of my head_!"

/_'My friend, calm down._'/ Aqualad's soft voice drifted over the mental connection trying to sooth the kryptonian's temper. /_'Miss Martian did not know your history with telepathic abuse. She meant no harm. Miss Martian, please disconnect him for right now._'/

The link dissolved. The voices in his head disappeared. The super-clone glared across the clearing at Miss Martian as if she were something vile and repugnant. "What the hell was that!? Don't do that! Don't _ever_ do that to me! Do you understand?"

"I'm sorry." The martian girl apologized. "I was just-"

"Just stay the hell away from me!" He jumped off in the direction he last heard Robin and Kid Flash. Them he knew. Them he could trust.

Over the mental connection, M'gann heard the Robin ask, /_'Hey, if you're done getting yelled at by Supey, could you send him over here? Looks like Bane's in one of the goon groups and we sure could use some heavy musc- Never mind. Thank you._'/

…

Well, that was eventful.

As first missions went, it could have gone better. But it certainly hadn't gone terribly. Sure, Supey had shown up unexpectedly. But he turned out to be helpful. Sure Bane had double crossed them and tried to kill them. But that should have been expected, and besides, they survived. Sure Sportsmaster had escaped. But they found out that he was a middleman working for someone else who was combining Venom with the Blockbuster formula. Sure they might have blown up the factory. But didn't that ensure that no more of the stuff would be made?

As first missions went, not terrible at all.

Now came the inevitable ride home in the bio-ship.

"I think we all worked well together." Miss Martian commented, chipperly.

"Yeah, after you all stopped arguing over who your leader was." Said the super-clone. He sat in one of the seats farthest from M'gann, arms crossed over his chest, leaning over to stare out the window at the eastern seaboard rushing beneath them.

Kaldur reached over and touched the kryptonian on the shoulder. "Have you given any consideration to rejoining the Team?"

He shrugged the hand away. "I don't mind the occasional team-up every now and then. But I refuse to work for Batman, and I refuse to be around a telepath for longer than I _need_ to be."

All eyes in the cabin turned to M'gann, sitting in the captain's chair. Her expression was obscured by her bangs, but she said in a soft voice, "Superman, I would never try to control you like those Cadmus people did. I promise. You don't have to be afraid of me."

The cabin was quiet for one… two… three beats.

Perhaps that was a bit harsh and callous of him. But he didn't know the martian girl, not really. Working together for the duration of one mission and having it turn out a success did not mean that they instantly had to become friends. Besides, even if they did become friends, he was the Superman, he did not work on covert operations! He did not hide in the shadows like a common crook! But most of all, he refused to take orders from Batman!

'_You're a punk kid in a costume_.' Nope. Definitely wasn't going to be cooperating with him any time soon. He didn't even call him 'Superman'! Well, nobody really called him 'Superman'. Lois called him 'Kid', which was annoying, but it carried a similar affectionate tone as when KF and Robin called him 'Supey'. Aqualad called him 'my friend', and that was nice, but it wasn't the name he wanted.

Miss Martian called him 'Superman'. Okay, maybe she wasn't all bad. Even if she was a telepath.

Then they had flown far enough north to enter the Atlantic Corridor. The super-clone stood from his seat. "You can let me off here. I'll get back to Metropolis on my own."

"You're not gonna come with us to be debriefed by Batman?" Asked the martian girl.

He shot her a dangerous look. "I don't work for Batman."

"Right. Sorry."

A circular hatch, just big enough for the kryptonian to fit through was opened up in the floor. The cabin was filled with wind, ruffling people's hair or whipping around their capes. The super-clone stepped right up to the edge of the hatch, but before he jumped out, he paused. Looking back up at the captain's chair, the wind tousling his hair over his forehead, giving him a very prominent spit-curl.

"Miss Martian," he said, "Thank you. You're the only one who's actually called me 'Superman'."

Then he jumped out.

…

Martha Kent clutched the phone in her right hand, wrapping the cord around her left. "No, Bruce, we haven't been watchin' the news much. All these reports of the new Superman stir Jonathan up a might."

"I know, Martha." Came back the Bruce's tenor, thick from holding back a sigh and the she could imagine him running a gloved hand through his hair in exasperation. "I don't know what to make of him myself, and I used to think I'd seen it all. He's nothing like Clark. At least, not the Clark I knew."

"That's a might ominous." Martha remark. "What do you mean by that?"

This time, Bruce did sigh into the phone. "Well, it seems like he really does want to do good, but every time I try to talk to him, he's rude, stubborn, obnoxious, has no respect for authority, and completely refuses to listen. He thinks he's above everything because he's Superman's clone."

That sounded like any troubled young boy to her. Someone who'd never had a consistent role model or stable home-life. Rude and stubborn teenagers were the results of poor parenting. They just needed a firm but understanding hand to guide them. Bruce, as the Batman, was plenty firm, but with his feelings over Clark clouding the issue, he lacked the level of understanding and empathy necessary to rear this particular child. That left Martha to wonder just how well the situation was being handled.

Lois had phoned to tell her about the boy and that he was staying with her. Lois was a nice girl, and Martha had been looking forward to having her as a daughter-in-law. But she wasn't exactly the 'motherly' type. She would make a wonderful 'big sister' figure, but as far as parenting went, Martha didn't think she had the right kind of firm hand. She knew how to handle corrupt businessmen and politicians. She did not have much experience with children.

"So, I started thinking," he continued, "what was Clark like at the age of sixteen? I know his powers developed slowly. But if he had superior strength, enhanced hearing, infrared vision… All that ability in the hands of a teenager, maybe Clark would act just like this boy?"

At that suggestion, Ma Kent was politely insulted. "Now, you know no child raised by me would every carry on like that, Bruce, -powers or no!"

There was a prolonged pause in which she wondered if he'd hung-up or they were disconnected. Then, finally, the Dark Knight muttered, "That's just it, Martha, you _didn't_ raise this boy."

…


	6. Schooled

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

World Without

Chapter Six: Schooled

Doomsday's attack on Metropolis did an immeasurable amount of damage to the city. By August, well over a trillion dollars had already been spent on the reconstruction and it had only been four months. So focused was everyone on reconstructing the damaged and even _destroyed_ segments of the city that simple and mundane things like standard maintenance of the undamaged structures went completely forgotten.

When one of those neglected structures is a bridge, one of the city's main arteries, said negligence can be fatal.

At first it was just one cable. Whether from common, daily wear, or by a foreign corrosive introduced to wire's surface, it was unclear; and quite frankly, it didn't really matter. What did mater was that in the mid-morning, during rush hour, the cable snapped! Whipping across three lanes of the Hobsneck Bridge.

Vehicles broke and swerved frantically to avoid the deadly line. A sedan and a school bus full of children, in their efforts to dodge the cable failed to remember that they were on a bridge –or, perhaps they simply weren't paying attention- and barreled into the side guard-railing, nearly driving strait off the bridge. They hung there, teetering precariously on the edge. Ready to drop into the murky waters of Hobsneck at any moment.

Bruce Wayne, observed the scene from his office overlooking the river. It was by simple happen-chance, that his actual day-job as President and owner of Wayne Enterprises brought him to Metropolis that morning. Usually, he did not stray out of Gotham unless it was to further is 'playboy' persona or for actual JLA business. Seeing the emergency on the bridge unfold, he took only as much time as was needed to assess the situation before going for his bat-suit.

They arrived on scene almost at the same time.

The Batman came swinging over the water from the office high-rises that bordered the east bank of the river and landed atop on the bridge supports. Sliding down the still intact support cables, he came to a pause a few passes short of the school bus.

The young super-clone, the self-proclaimed 'Superman' landed a half-second after him. His red and blue tights seeming all the brighter in the Metropolis morning air. Causing a shockwave through the concrete slab that made up the bridge's main portion and the Caped Crusader was assailed by visions of the underlying support buckling under the stress.

"_Careful!"_ He barked at the boy. "A landing like that could destabilize the bridge!"

But the super-clone acted as if he hadn't heard the Dark Knight. He grabbed the sedan hanging off the edge and lifted it with ease, setting it back down away from the danger. Then he went for the bus. Grabbing the bumper and pulling with his whole body. Boots scraping over the pavement in his effort to pull it back from the edge.

In his mind, the Batman ran through all the possible ways he could aid the super-clone. He may not like the boy, and the feeling might be mutual, but that didn't matter right now. All that mattered was saving as many people as they possible could. For that they had to work together.

From his perch beside the still undamaged bridge support, he took out the normal line he used in his grappling gun and replaced it with a spool of a high-tensile strength cable he had designed specifically to restrain super-powered opponents like Captain Marvel and… and Clark. He shot the line across the front of the bus, creating a pseudo-hammock to hold the buss back from falling –at least, falling further. But they still had to get it back up on the bridge if they were going to get the kids out.

The super-clone pulled on the bus' bumper, muscles straining, teeth grit against the stress. Clark never would have had so much trouble with one bus. He probably could have handled it with one hand. Once again, Bruce was shown just how unlike the original Superman this doppelganger was. And yet… to spite the fact that he was having so much trouble with it, he refused to let go. _That_ was something Clark would do. It was the first time Bruce saw something in the boy that reminded him of his genetic-parent. That didn't make him Superman, but it did support his claim. Thus far, it was the first and only thing that supported his claim.

With a loud snarl of frustration –or, perhaps it was more reminiscent of a battle cry- the super-clone gave one final pull against the bus' bumper. Heels digging into the asphalt of the bridge. The bus came back up onto the level surface with a loud _THUMP_ with the accompaniment of over a dozen screaming children. The bumper he held came flying off, its rivets and welding no longer able to hold-up against the kryptonian's hold. And the super-clone was propelled backwards several paces, falling flat on his ass with a relived grunt.

Bruce let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding in. The bus was safe, they could start evacuating the children.

Then, the segment of bridge they were on began to crack.

Loud, ominous _CRINK-CLACK_s filled their ears and jagged fissures began zig-zagging their way through the asphalt in random patterns. One set of cracks branching out from the weakened support pillar with its broken cable. Another set spider-webbing outwards from the site of the super-clone's landing when he first appeared on the scene. A third from the edge, right next to the bus.

"What-!?" Exclaimed the kryptonian doppelganger.

"_Don't make any sudden movements_. Step gently!" Commanded the Dark Knight.

He began creeping from his place by the support cable towards the bus. Wincing as every other step elicited the soft crackling of micro-fractures in the pavement. He wished Clark were here. He could fly under the bridge and hold it up while Bruce evacuated the civilians, or maybe do some quick spot-welding on the supports with his heat vision, or even _both_. But this boy… what could he do? He didn't even know that the force of his landing could stress the bridge enough to make it crumble.

Yet, he was still here –helping.

In his ear, the Caped Crusader's comm buzzed. "This is Batman. I'm a bit busy right now."

The super-clone also began stepping lightly, working his way back to the bus. Around them people were jumping out of their cars, running to the undamaged portion of the bridge –to 'safe' ground. Those that stayed in their cars tried to drive around the fallen cable, only to break hard when they realized a wall of screaming people and other cars blocked their path. Around it all, the ground under their feet cracked and crumbled.

The Caped Crusader prioritized the victims. First the school bus. Over a dozen children and one very fat bus-driver. Sixteen victims. All in the vehicle closest to the edge. Then everyone else. The kids could not save themselves; the adults already attempting to flee could if they could stop panicking for five seconds. Clark could pacify them with a single sentence and a lop-sided smile. The super-clone didn't even try.

Batman reached the bus first and began opening the emergency exit in the back –or rather, trying to open it. Whether it had been damaged at some point during the incident or was just stuck from disuse was unclear. All that mattered at that moment was the lever wouldn't turn and the emergency door wouldn't open. The faces of wide-eyed and terrified looking children stared at him through the back window. All screaming and yelling for Batman and 'Superman' to help them, save them.

"Let me." The super-clone came up beside the Caped Crusader.

And for half a second, the boy sounded like Clark. 'Bruce, let me. I can just pry it open in a jiffy.' Realizing that, while the Batman _could_ weld the hatch open with the tools he kept on his belt, he did not have the time and kryptonian muscle could open it much quicker. So, the Dark Knight stepped aside.

The super-clone gripped the handle with one hand and thrust the other into the seam between the door and the frame. Releasing the handle, he thrust his other hand through the other door seam. The boy pulled. The door bent and buckled, there was the sound of straining metal and cracking plexiglas. Then the door came free. The kryptonian-doppelganger staggered back, catching his balance with a _stomp _that was just a little to rough for the already weakened bridge. The door tumbling away in another direction.

For a second time, the Batman's comm buzzed and this time –since the clone seemed to be handling things- he actually paused long enough to listen to what the person on the other end had to say.

"Bats!" Oliver's voice came over the channel. "We could really use some help over here!"

The sudden movement caused more fractures to form over the bridge. Beneath their feet the ground began to buckle. The bridge was crumbing. It was going to collapse!

"I'm not available!" He shouted into his comm.

Several things happened very fast. The cracks and fractures that ziged-zagged through the asphalt became longer and deeper. People screamed in horror beyond panic. Fragments of the support railings beneath the bridge fell into the river. Chunks of the blacktop fell off. _People_ fell off! The super-clone grabbed for the bus.

Just as everything fell apart.

The moment Bruce felt the ground beneath his feet disappear and the pull of gravity on his body, he didn't think, he just acted. Reaching into his belt and pulling out his spare grappling gun. He focused on the one thing that was still solid and immobile –the vertical support pillar- and fired his line. He swung in a wide arch, feet taking most of his impact against the pillar, knees bucking to absorb the force of the swing. Cars, concrete, and screaming pedestrians rained down into the water, but the Caped Crusader couldn't do anything for them. Not at that moment.

When the Batman was certain he was in no immediate danger, he looked to see what had become of the super-clone and the school bus.

The kryptonian-doppelganger had latch onto the bus with one hand while the other gripped the broken and now dangling support cable. From his angle, Bruce couldn't see the boy's face, but his grip on both the bus and his line was white-knuckled and strained. His arms pulled taught, muscles straining, veins pulsing under the skin. But he was still holding firm. To spite the obvious strain on his body, the counterfeit 'Superman' wasn't going to let go.

_That_ was something Clark would do!

Batman repelled down the pillar until he reached the young super-clone. Now he could see the boy's face. Eyes shut against the apparent pain of having his body pulled in two different directions, teeth gritted against the strain. It was difficult for him. He didn't have all of Clark's powers and those he did have weren't as potent. He wasn't as strong as Clark. He didn't have his endurance. He wasn't as invulnerable as the late Man of Steel had been. But he was still holding on. He would not let the bus –and the children within it- fall into the river.

For the first time since meeting the boy that night outside Cadmus, the Caped Crusader saw just a bit of the original Superman in him.

"Hold on." He told the boy. Then, calling into the bus, shouting to be heard over the hysterics of those within it, "Pass me the kids. One at a time. And _stay calm_! Super-" super-what? not 'Superman', not yet. 'Superboy' then? He hated that name and in this moment he had the Dark Knight's respect so he wouldn't insult him by calling him 'boy'. 'Superclone', while accurate just seemed insulting. "-Super won't let you fall."

The bus driver slowly –very slowly- maneuvered his way up to the back of the bus, using the seat-backs like a step ladder. He passed one child to the Batman. A little with an injured arm. She must have caught it on something during the fall. She was sobbing heavily, but when the Caped Crusader wrapped one strong arm around her, she paused long enough to look at the bat-symbol on his chest in wonder. Then her eyes flicked to the super-clone and his own symbol in its colors or yellow and red over a background of blue. The symbol of her city's hero.

The girl wasn't crying anymore and she clung to the Batman with her good arm as tightly as she could while he climbed up to safety. It as slow goings, but when they reached the ledge that had once been the carpool lane, it was to find that emergency rescue crews had finally arrived on the scene. An EMT took the girl from him and rushed her over to where they were already erecting an on-site first aid tent –the ambulances were reserved for near fatal injuries.

Two firemen offered Batman a hand up once he was free of his charge. But he waved them off. There were still fifteen other people down there he needed to save. He repelled back down to grab another child.

Slowly, every slowly, the bus was emptied. One by one. Batman carried each one up his line individually and each time they were passed off to the EMTs or firemen waiting on the ledge. Until finally only the driver was left. It was the longest and most strenuous climb Bruce had ever had to endure and he once again found himself wishing Clark were here. The Superman could lift the fan man easily. Lift him and fly him up to safety as if it were nothing. Finally, when they reached the top, and the man was passed off to the EMTs, the Batman did allow himself to be pulled up onto solid ground.

Peering back over the edge, he called to the kryptonian clone, "Super, they're safe. You can let go now!"

The empty bus dropped from his hand almost immediately. Bruce didn't have super-hearing, but if he did he was sure he would have heard something along the lines of 'Oh thank fucking goodness!' But the super-clone did not begin to climb back up the cable as the Caped Crusader expected. Instead, he dove down into the river.

What the hell was that boy thinking?

Then Bruce found himself climbing back over the ledge and repelling back down the pillar to the water. It was then that he saw what the boy was doing. The waters of the Hobsneck were deep, but the current moved so fast that it was (usually) clear. There, deep under the surface, the Dark Knight could see a figure in red and blue swimming from car to car, ripping off doors, looking for survivors.

Bruce did a few quick calculations in his head. Falling from the height of the bridge, they would be traveling so fast that the average human would be killed on impact –their bodies carried away by the curent. Those in cars wouldn't die from the fall, but depending on how fast their cars filled with water they might have already drowned to death. If not drowned, then definitely sustained brain damage. After being deprived of oxygen for more than three minuets the human brain begins to shut down. All that was of course, assuming none of them had gotten hit by or crushed under the falling debris from the bridge.

Chances of finding survivors? One in sixty. (Approximately.)

Yet, the boy was still trying. That was _also_ very much like Clark.

Bruce pulled a rebreather from his belt, lowered him self a little closer to the water and dove in. The current was strong and his cape weighted him down, but the Batman was at the peak of human physical condition and managed to make his way to the super-clone with enough effort.

Touching the boy on the shoulder to get his attention, the Caped Crusader began a short pantomime that he hoped conveyed instructions for the most efficient was to search for survivors. Look for cars that still have air bubbles trapped in them. To illustrate this he took his rebreather off and blew out a short puff of air then trapped the bubble in his hand. If there's still air, which means they've had something to breath this whole time and are more likely to still be alive. If they're still conscious, try and get their attention when you rip the car open so they don't gasp with shock and inhale water. Don't just yank people out of their seats. Watch for seatbelts.

They split up. The Batman searching one half of the underwater ruin that was the late Hobsneck Bridge and the super-clone searching the other half. Each time one of them found a body still in a car, regardless of whether they were conscious or not, regardless of whether they were still alive or not, they returned to the surface. The rescue boats were out on the water by that point and the bodies were passed off to the Metropolis Coast Guard.

Thirty-six people were pulled from the river that morning. Of that thirty-six, only one was still alive –but had been deprived of oxygen for so long it didn't seem likely that they'd ever wake up from their coma. There were a grand total of seventy-three people on the bridge that morning. From the entire crisis, they only actually managed to save eighteen people. The sixteen from the bus, the unconscious one from the river and the man in the sedan –the first vehicle the clone pulled back from the edge. Others died when the bridge collapsed, their bodies carried away by the current.

After things finally calmed down, the Batman finally got his first chance to actually speak to the boy.

He was sitting on the hood of one of the Meto-SCU's squat cars that was parked on the riverbank. A towel shown over his shoulders. Hair still dripping from his dip in the river. Water trickling down the hood of the car. Knees drawn up to his chest. Arms wrapped around his shins. He stared off across the bay, his crystal eyes fixed on the short, impotent ledge of concrete sticking out from the opposite shore that had once been the Hobsneck Bridge.

Bruce stood next to the boy. Arms crossed over his chest. He had no idea what to say.

"Are you gonna tell me its all my fault?" Asked the kid without prompting. "That my landing destabilized the whole bridge. It fell because of me. All those people died because of me."

That was not what Bruce was going to say. He had planned to say something along the lines of, 'You did good work today. You're not a Superman yet, but if you keep trying like you did today, you can be.' Instead what came out was, "You're inexperienced. Of course you'll make rookie mistakes."

The super-clone tore his eyes from the broken bridge to glare at the Dark Knight. "People _died_!"

And for half a second, he though he was looking at Clark. 'People died, Bruce! It doesn't matter who they are or what they've done. All life is precious! All life.' Maybe… he really could claim the Superman mantel. Not right away. Not yet. But…

"I bet Superman could have saved them." The boy muttered, looking away from the Batman and instead talking into his knees. "The real Superman would have saved _everyone_."

And that was the first time Bruce heard the boy admit that he wasn't a 'real' Superman. "He had super-speed and could fly."

The Caped Crusader meant it to sound more like, 'You did well with the talents and skills that you have.' Instead, it felt more like, 'You're barely half the man he was.'

"I should go…" The boy muttered, climbing down off the hood of the car. "The woman I'm staying with will worry if I don't call to tell her I'm okay."

For a moment, it looked like he was about to jump away. Take one great big leap over buildings as Bruce had seen him do that night outside Cadmus. But it was a lame jump –more of a hop, really. His feet barely even left the ground. Instead, the boy _walked_ away, his head hung low. And Bruce was left to reexamine his prior opinions of the clone.

It wasn't until after the boy left that his JLA comm buzzed for a third time. "This is Batman. Go ahead."

"We handled it." Came the Green Arrow's voice, sounding exhausted beyond belief. They must have had a much tougher time than the Batman and super-clone had. "But the others and I think maybe your Team could handle transport to STAR Labs? It's a robot, by the way."

Bruce suppressed a sigh. "Meet me at the Cave in ten minuets."

…

The young 'Superman' found himself standing in front of the Daily Planet building, staring down at the gold-plated plaque that marked the stop where the first Superman had died.

_In memory of Superman_

**S**

_Killed on this spot while defending Metropolis._

The first Superman was so dedicated to his mission that he had given his life. He made the single –ultimate- sacrifice a hero could make in the defense of people. In the protection of people. To help people. To save people. Today, he saved a few people. But more had died. So many more. He hadn't saved them. In fact, he might as well have killed them. It was his rough landing that destabilized the bridge to the point that it fell apart. All his fault.

He was no Superman.

Maybe Batman was right; he was just a punk kid in a costume.

He wasn't sure how long he stood out there, staring at the plaque. But Lois eventually came rushing out, dragging Jimmy Olsen behind her and the both of them nearly barreled directly into him.

"Kid!" She exclaimed.

"Lois…?" He blinked at her for a moment. Then, all of a sudden, he just broke. "Oh, god, Lois!"

Wrapping his arms around her, the boy sobbed into her shoulder.

"They _died_. So many of them died and it's all _my fault_!"

Lois wrapper her arms around the hysterical 'Superman' in an attempt to comfort him. She stroked his hair while cooing, "Shh, shh. Hey, its okay. From what I heard over the police scanner you saved a lot of people today."

Beside them, Jimmy raised his camera to snap a photo of the distraught hero, but Lois shot him an icy look and shook her head, 'No.' They would not publicize the super-clone's moment of weakness and doubt.

From the first moment she saw him waiting for her at her desk, he had always seemed so confident and sure of himself. Over-confident, really. Lois had enough experience reading people to know it was mostly all bravado. It would eventually break. Well, it looks like it did break for him and being the four-month-old infant that he really was, the Kid didn't know how to cope with failure.

What would Martha do in this situation?

"Jimmy," she began, "can you cover the bridge story on your own? Take thirty bucks out of my purse for cab-fair."

"Uh… Sure, Ms. Lane."

After the intrepid photographer left, Lois pulled from the Kid's hug enough to look at him. His under-eyes were red and slightly puffy from crying and looked sullen and dejected, like he'd let the world down, or life held no meaning for him anymore. She sighed and gave him, what she hoped, was an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"C'mon, Kid. Let's go home."

…


	7. Survivor's Guilt

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

World Without

Chapter Seven: Survivor's Guilt

Back at her apartment, Lois made a cup of hot chocolate for the Superboy –with extra, extra marshmallows and whipped cream.

He didn't drink it. Just held the warm mug in his hands and stared at a photo on the wall, while the whipped cream melted all over his hands and dripped on Lois' knock-off Persian carpet.

Lois wasn't quite sure what to do. She didn't exactly have much experience with children. Not since she actually was a child. She knew how to be a big sister, but mostly only to a younger sister. Her only experience with teenaged boys was from the perspective of a teenaged girl, and that wouldn't help much in this situation. If he were an adult, she'd just slap him on the shoulder and tell him to suck it up. But he wasn't an adult. He was a distraught child. Less than a child. He was only a few month old. He was a baby.

How do you comfort a baby?

You cuddle it. Hold it in your arms and rock it with steady motion and ridiculous cooing sounds.

Yeah… that wasn't gonna happen here.

In the end, Lois laid out a shamwow under the Kid's dripping cup to save herself a little bit of carpet cleaning, and sat down on the couch next to him. She wrapped one arm around the boy's broad shoulders in a half hug and asked, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

The Kid was silent for long moments and Lois began to wonder if he just didn't plan on answering her. He just continued to stare at that photograph on the wall. It was one from their engagement party –her's and Clark's. Clark's face was in profile, feeding a slice of cake to a three-quarter view of Lois (who was smiling like an idiot). In profile, his glasses didn't cover as much of his face; the thick leaded glass didn't subdue that unearthly shade of blue that was his eye. With a strand of hair falling carelessly out of place and that ridiculously happy smile on his face, he looked more like Superman in that photo than he did Clark Kent.

Did the Kid see it? Was that why she sometimes caught him staring at pictures of Clark when he thought she wasn't looking? Did he recognize her late fiancé as his genetic-parent?

Finally, after a prolonged pause, he said, "Do you think he's right?"

"Who?" Lois blinked, not having the slightest idea of whom he was talking about. Clark?

"Batman." And the way the Kid said that, choking out the name like it was something thick and painful to swallow. "Am I just a punk kid in a costume?"

He placed his mug down on the coffee table and pressed his sticky hand to the S on his chest.

"I don't really know what this means." He admitted. "I know it stands for Superman. But that was the name the papers gave him and he was wearing it before that. Is the S for something else? Selfless. Star. Supporter. Sympathetic. Savior. What? I don't know! There's so much I don't know! Those people _died_ today because I didn't know that my landing could destabilize the bridge. That I could cause it to collapse! _Batman knew_! But I didn't. I don't know anything."

_Superman would be ashamed of him._

Not knowing what else to do or say, Lois scooted closer and wrapped her other arm around him so that he was in a good and proper hug. Hugs were supposed to be good for children, right? "Oh, Kid…" She said. "You know lots of stuff. Just the other day, _you_ schooled _me_ on the history of Kasnia."

"That's not the same!"

"Shush." Lois pulled him closer to her and began stroking his dark hair rather like a cat. "Listen, you're young and you're new at this. You'll learn as you go. Now you know that dropping two-hundred pounds of dense kryptonian teenager on an already weakened structure will break it. So, are you gonna do that again? No."

"But Superman-"

"Superman made his mistakes too. He wasn't perfect. We all just like to imagine he was because he's gone now. But let me tell you –that man was no saint." In all the best ways, but that was none of the kid's business. "Plus, he was older than you when he first came to Metropolis, his powers were more developed. You did the best you could, with the abilities you have."

The Superboy gently pushed her away. He stared at her with forlorn crystal eyes and it was hard to tell if her words had any effect on him at all, or if he were just suppressing his distress so that she would stop bothering him.

"Thanks, Lois." He said. Standing from the couch. "But I think I just wanna take a walk, if you don't mind. I… I'll call you if I'm gonna be out late."

And he left. Out the door, not the window.

…

The trucks went their two separate ways and the Team divided up to follow each one as escort. It was a quiet summer night, the peaceful kind that you just didn't get in Gotham. It would be really nice if the night stayed peaceful and nothing terrible happened to interfere with the Team's mission. But, the Batman knew enough to know that, that wasn't going to happen. Otherwise, what was the need in using the Team as an extra security contingent at all?

He watched two separate dust trails disappear into the night. They would be fine. True, they were young and still getting used to one another, but they were a Team and thus far had worked rather well together. The Caped Crusader did not need to worry about them.

…Not when there was another teenager in more need of concern.

'_Are you gonna tell me its all my fault?_'

It seemed the super-clone was affected much more deeply by his words than the Dark Knight originally thought. True, his comment about the boy's landing early in the incident was a bit gruff and snappy. But he meant it as a mid-crisis coaching –something he did often enough with Dick. But the young super-clone was no Robin. He was more emotionally fragile. He tumbled into the world already a teenager and standing in a greater man's shadow. He never had a chance to gain the life experiences that allowed for people to build emotional strength.

The super-clone needed some deep empathy therapy. And Bruce knew just the place where he could get it…

…

The young Superman didn't really know where he was going. He certainly didn't have a specific destination in mind.

Wearing his red and blue uniform with its 90s V-wait, hands hanging limply at his sides, head down, eyes sullen and forlorn. He looked more like a boy in a costume then the real Second Superman he kept claiming to be. This fact was driven home when he was tapped on the shoulder by someone wanting to complement him on his 'Superkid' cosplay. The Kid mumbled out a subdued "Thank you" because it was what his programming told him was the socially appropriate response, but he was not glad for the comment in the least.

It was true. What Batman had said back at the Cave. He was just a punk kid in a costume. Even the Metropolis locals agreed –he was 'cosplaying' (whatever the hell that was!). He was putting on a costume and pretending to be more than he was. A hero. A champion. A savior. A Superman. But all he really was, was a copy. A cheap imitation. A counterfeit Superman.

He passed by a bookstore that was having a clearance sale on a photo documentary of the Doomsday Massacre. The Kid paused outside the store's window to stare at the book's cover. Beneath the title and credited photographer 'James Olsen' was the image of Superman's cape. Torn and tattered, but still vibrantly red against the drab and dreary background of the destroyed downtown area. The photo showed it caught on a broken piece of pipe, jutting up out of the rubble. Blowing in the breeze. The yellow S almost dead-center. Even in death, Superman still flew.

That was a peculiar thought. It was uncharacteristically poetic of him.

But he couldn't fly. All the super-clone could do was jump immeasurably high. It was almost like flying. He could leap tall buildings in a single bound. But, inevitably, gravity would always grab hold of him once more and drag him back earthward. The young Superman heaved a sigh and turned away from the store window with the photo documentary and resumed his walking.

It was then that he walked smack into another person. His head down, eyes focused on the sidewalk rather than in front of him, the Kid didn't see the man until his face had already impacted a rather impressive beer-belly. The man staggered backwards a few paces, his large belly bouncing him off the brickwall-like body of the super-clone. The Kid muttered a dejected "Sorry" and resumed his stride, only to have a beefy hand grab his shoulder, making him pause. He turned around, wondering if this was going to turn into one of those petty street brawls that were supposed to be so common in Suicide Slum.

But when he lifted his eyes, it was to see the face of a middle-aged man looking down on him with something akin to curiosity and wonder, tempered by a healthy dose of skepticism and then accented by sympathy. It was a good thing Cadmus had programmed into him how to read human facial expressions; he never would have made sense of his asymmetrical features otherwise.

"Yer that new Sooperman, ain't ya?" He said.

The Kid was about to reply with something akin to 'Yeah. What's it to you?' But the words drained out of him before they could even pass his lips. In his head, he heard Batman calling him nothing more than a punk kid in a costume and after his failure at the bridge this morning, he had to admit that the Dark Knight was right. "I'm not Superman."

The man seemed to study him for a moment after that. Then, as if commenting on the weather, he said, "Ya look like ya could use somethin' ta eat. Name's Bibbo and I got a place on the corner."

And so, the Kid found himself being guided to a nice dinner at a busy intersection right on the edge between the Bay area and Downtown. He was plopped down on a stool at the bar while Bibbo tromped behind the counter to a glass cake stand, but rather than a cake this one held a pie instead. He cut a slice for the super-clone, heated it in a microwave for a few seconds and then served it with whipped cream. What was it with people and trying to give you whipped cream when you were sad? Lois piled it on his hot chocolate, and now this guy was putting on his pie.

"Sooperman liked this." Bibbo announced proudly. "Said it wuz the second best on Earth."

"Oh." Was all the Kid could think of to say in response. He cut a piece off with his fork and raised it to his mouth. It was worlds better than the grocery store bought stuff Lois kept in stock. He didn't know if he'd call it 'second best on the planet' or anything. He hadn't really been everywhere on Earth yet in his short life and he certainly hadn't taste tested every apple pie in the world. But if Superman said it, then it must be true. After all, the real Superman never told a lie.

The young super-clone glanced around the dinner, studying his surroundings. He'd been living and heroing in Metropolis for a month now, but hadn't really given much attention to becoming better acquainted with her or the people who lived here. It was a nice, clean, well lit dinner. With wide windows, teal colored booths, plastic tables finished to resemble lacquer. On the wall behind the bar were a number of signed photographs. Mostly local celebrities the Kid didn't recognize, all headshots and portraits signed and framed. But placed in a positing of honor above all of them, hung by a black ribbon rather than a hook and wire was a picture of Superman.

It was a full color clipping from the Daily Planet. A full-body image of Superman in profile, facing off against what looked like a gigantic ape in the middle of Downtown. But it was signed.

'_To Bibbo,_

'_Thanks for your help with Titano. Good luck with the new place'_

Then, in the place of a signature was a series of geometric shapes and odd symbols, most notable of which was the pentagonal shield, but in place of the trademark S was instead a figure-8.

"May I see that?" The Kid asked, pointing to the picture of Superman.

Bibbo paused for a moment, looking rather like someone had just asked him to hand over one of his kidneys. But after a beat or two passed he gave a slight nod and turned around to –reverently- lift the black ribbon off its hook and pull the picture down. He set it on the counter a safe distance from the Kid's pie plate.

"I asked Sooperman ta sign this after we fought this giant monkey."

But the kid was only half listening. He studied the odd super-shield, with a figure-8 in place of the usual S. It was part of Superman's signature, which meant it was part of his name, and his signature was in an alien language. (That made sense, since he was supposed to be from another planet.) He once again herd Batman's voice in his head, felt him jabbing a finger at the S on his chest. '_You don't know what this means or what it stands for.'_

And he really didn't.

The Kid studied the three characters preceding the 8-shiled. Every strait line, every curve every dot of Superman's signature, of his kryptonian name. "He really signed this…"

"Yeah." Bibbo beamed with pride. "But that's just the kinda guy he wuz."

He remembered Robin saying something very similar the night of his liberation from Cadmus. '_Superman was… he was the kind of guy who would take time to humor a little boy's stupid request for an autograph, or listen to a pre-teen's complaints about his guardian. He was more than bright red underpants and giant-robot fights._'

And what was he? Was the super-clone anything more than infantile tantrums and broken bridges?

Bibbo watched the boy scrutinize the picture and autograph. Finally, after a prolonged pause, he said, "Ya never met Sooperman, did ya."

The Kid just shook his head.

"Well, ain't that somethin'. All this time, I wuz thinkin' you were his son, or somethin'."

"No." He once again shook his head. "Superman doesn't have a son. I was made from him. I'm supposed to replace him. But I never met him. I know less about him than the average guy on the street. I've made so many mistakes wearing his shield. I… I think he'd be ashamed of me."

"Sooperman?" Now it was Bibbo's turn to shake his head. "Naw. He ain't ashamed of no one that tried ta do good. If anythin' he'd be proud to have inspired ya ta do what yer tryin' ta do."

"You think so?" Asked the super-clone, needing to hear it even if he didn't believe it.

…

"…Okay, Bruce. Bye-bye." Martha Kent hung up the phone and heaved a heavy sigh.

Jonthan put his arms around her, but it was unclear whether the gesture was to comfort her or himself. All the news reports about the new 'Superman' had stirred up his heart condition. It was bad enough that his son hadn't even been dead a year yet, that they didn't even get to bury his body in their family plot because he was entombed in another state, but to hear that he'd already been replaced… it hurt. A great deal. But, though he didn't really count himself a Christian anymore, Jonathan Kent was a firm believer in 'Judge not, lest ye be judged.'

It was not the Superboy's fault he had been created to replace Clark. He never met the boy and from what Bruce told Martha, he wasn't a 'bad kid', he was just young, confused, and in need of some guidance. He and Martha raised one super-powered son into a fine man, they could raise another. It might even be nice to have a child in the house again.

"Can we put 'im in the guest room instead of Clark's old room?" He asked, speaking into his wife's neck.

"Of course!" Martha replied, patting her husband's hand. "I wouldn't dream of putting him in Clark's room."

…

Bibbo was nice. It seemed a lot of the people in Metropolis whom considered Superman a friend were nice. Lois gave him the use of her spare bedroom, Jimmy and Perry from the Planet bought him sodas, and Bibbo gave him pie and tried to reassure him. They were all very nice people.

It was a shame that Batman wasn't as nice as the late Superman's other friends.

But then… Batman worked with Superman on an almost daily basis. Not just within the Justice League, but also as partners –the World's Finest. Lois, Jimmy, Perry and Bibbo were nice, but they couldn't possibly know his genetic-parent as well as the Batman knew him. And the Batman said the Superman would be ashamed of him. No amount of reassurances in the world could change that truth. Lois, Perry, Bibbo and Jimmy were nice. But Batman knew the Superman best.

'_He would be ashamed of you.'_

Continuing his walk from the dinner, the young super-clone found himself on one of the many paved jogging trails that wound through Centennial Park. It was not the same trail he had saved the jogger on. Abut all trails in the park lead to the statue. Superman's Tomb.

The bullet holes that had pot-marked it a month ago were repaired and the statue gleamed in the failing evening light. With the sun setting over the city behind it, the statue's shadow was thrown over him. The Kid was quite literally standing in Superman's shadow. He looked up a his genetic-parent, silhouetted against the early evening sky, feet spread in a confident stance, one fist resting on his hip, the other arm supporting a perched baled eagle. What would the real Superman think of him?

'_He would be ashamed of you.'_

Would he? What Cadmus had taught him about Superman made it seem like he was the kind of man that loved everyone. That he tried to save innocents and villains alike. What would he have said today, if he had witnessed the incident at the bridge?

'_You're just a punk kid in a costume._'

'_Your landing destabilized the bridge. They're dead because of you!_'

The young clone fell to his knees in front of the statue. Yes. That would be what the real Superman would say. It was all his fault. All those people in the bridge died because of him. Batman probably could have handled it on his own. He didn't have to jump in and try to be a hero. If he hadn't, the bridge wouldn't have collapsed. Nothing terrible would have happened. But he just _had_ to be a hero.

Lois said he did the best he could with the abilities he had. But Batman was a normal human with no powers and he did a better job. She said that Superman made mistakes and wasn't perfect, but he couldn't think of any instances where that was true.

Bibbo said Superman would be proud that he inspired the young clone to use his powers to help others. But while he did have only the purest of intensions, his biggest attempt to help thus far instead turned into his biggest tragedy. How could Superman be proud of that?

He rested his forehead on the pedestal bearing nothing more than the S-shield in place of whatever words people usually placed on headstones. The Kid heaved a heavy sigh and spoke to the aground.

"Hi." He said. "Sorry I haven't really come to visit you since I… ever. You don't know me and you probably hate me right now. I'm wearing your symbol, but you never gave it to me. I don't even know what it means, not really. Does it stand for 'super', or something else? I saw a similar character in your signature. Is it a kryptonian thing?"

He sighed again and raised his eyes to look up at the statue. It was dark now, the bronze-plated face of the Man of Steel thrown into shadow by the angled light of the lamps that lined the path.

"You can't answer any of these questions. Because you're dead. But… I donno. I just… I messed up today and everyone's saying I should feel so bad. But… you wouldn't have failed. You would have saved everyone. I've been calling myself 'Superman', but… I'm really not. I'm just a punk kid in a costume playing at being a hero."

He lapsed into silence after that. Lowering his eyes back to the S-shield in the pedestal. He didn't knw how long he sat there, just staring at the symbol. Cadmus gave him the symbol, painted in onto his chest before he even awoke to conscious thought. He believed it was his by right. But the shield wasn't theirs to give, or his to take. It was Superman's and Superman had passed away without bestowing custodianship of his legacy to anyone.

No one had the right to give the symbol away. No one had the right to take it.

A shadow fell over the boy and he looked up to see a pointy-eared silhouette over the S-shield on the pedestal. Batman. The young clone turned around, and sure enough, there was the Caped Crusader. Standing silent as the shadow he cast, cape hanging over his frame, making him look more like a dark specter than a man. It was an eerie effect and the Kid suddenly had an idea of how he was able to be such an affective crime fighter even with no powers. He knew it the night he was liberated from Cadmus, but this just drove the fact home.

The Batman was scary.

Not knowing what to do or say. Not knowing what Gotham's Dark Knight wanted from him. The super-clone had a short bout of word-vomit and just voiced how he was feeling.

"Are you going to tell me I shouldn't be here? That I have no right to visit his tomb? How dare I stand where he stood?" The Kid stood, glaring at the caped figure of the Batman. You're right, okay! I get that now. I am just a punk kid in a costume. I don't know anything about him or what this stands for. And, after my failure today, he probably _would_ be ashamed of me! All I am is infantile tantrums and broken bridges. I… I'm no Superman."

The clone lowered his eyes at that admission, speaking more to his feet than the Dark Knight. If he had kept his focus on the man's face, he might have caught the slight up-turn of the man's lips. A small smile of approval.

"Now, you're ready." He said, earning only a startled look of confusion from the boy. "Come with me."

…


	8. The Farm

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

World Without

Chapter Eight: The Farm

"I… I'm no Superman."

The clone lowered his eyes at that admission, speaking more to his feet than the Dark Knight. If he had kept his focus on the man's face, he might have caught the slight up-turn of the man's lips. A small smile of approval.

"Now, you're ready." He said, earning only a startled look of confusion from the boy. "Come with me."

Faster than the super-clone expected, the Caped Crusader closed the distance between them, closing one gauntlet-gloved and around his wrist. Pulling the boy behind him, the Batman lead them to what looked like an augmented Boeing F/A-XX fighter jet. The sleek lines and aerodynamic design, when painted all black as the Batman had it, gave it the look of a dark predator of the night. It was the perfect plane for the Dark Knight.

Swift and silent as a shadow. –Like he was.

And it must be silent, too. Since the super-clone with all his enhanced hearing and other senses hadn't heard it land. The Batman might be just an ordinary human with no powers, but he certainly had the means to keep up with the rest of the Justice League. No wonder they had unanimously voted him as leader.

The Caped Crusader's free hand drifted down to his belt to press some sort of a control that must have been there, because as they approached the plane, the cockpit slid open for them. It was then that the young super-clone came back to his senses a small bit.

"But where are you taking me?" He asked, partly because he didn't much like the idea of giving in so easily and allowing himself to be lead. But mostly because the Batman scared him and he wasn't sure he really wanted to go anywhere with him. Especially not if he didn't know where he was being taken.

The Dark Knight paused. Turning to look at the boy. Those whited-out eye-slits boring into him with a critical gaze. "You're not a Superman." He said, only driving home a painful point the young clone was already agonizingly aware of. "But with the right kind of training from the right people… you can be."

…

The sun was just rising in the east fields when the Batwing set down a good distance from the farmhouse. Oddly enough, it was the same field Clark had crash-landed in all those years ago. The irony wasn't lost on Jonathan and Martha as they stood a ways away from the plane, watching the two men climb down out of the cockpit. But it was still the ideal landing place for any craft –be it space capsule or jet plane- that wanted to remain unseen. It was hidden from the road by a long stand of trees, their branches thick and full of lush green summer foliage. On the other side the hills rose up, obscuring the pseudo-landing pad from the neighboring farm.

The boy hopped down from the plane. Dressed in a red and blue uniform similar to Clark's but rather than the bright red overpants, he wore red leggings beneath a blue top coming to a rather sharp V-waist. The crest of El bold on his chest in red and yellow. Tall for his age. Dark haired. Blue eyed. Square jawed. He looked so much like Clark! Almost like he walked right out of one of his high school photos. Only the clothes and haircut were different.

Ma Kent's breath caught in her chest and she felt a pressure she hadn't experienced since that day. Watching the news. Watching her little boy being beaten to death in the defense of his city. Watching her little boy die. All that intense emotion came back to her now. But rather than shadowed by grief, the feelings were tempered by hope. This child had been made from her boy. Some piece of him still lived in this world. In a way, he was like Clark's son. He was her grandson. She had a grandson.

"My god, Martha!" Jonathan gasped beside her. "He looks just like-"

Martha took her husbands hand in hers. She had been anxious over his heart condition and how he would react to seeing the super-clone up close. She made sure he had taken his medication before coming out to meet them and she was confident that if he did go into crisis, between herself, Bruce and the boy, they would be able to help him quickly enough to not let a small heart-attack turn into a fatal one.

"I know, Jonathan." She whispered by his side. "I know."

Bruce and the boy crossed the distance between them. His dark cape wafting behind them in the summer breeze. The boy's eyes were downcast, studying the ground rather than the people in front of him. Martha hated seeing children looking so sad. Not just sad, but down-trodden and _defeated_. My gosh! He wasn't even a year old! He had no business looking like his spirits were broken and all hope had gone from the world.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kent," Bruce began, intentionally keeping a formal distance from the familiarity of their first names. "I'd like you to meet the late Superman's clone." He squeezed the boy's shoulder, prompting him to look up at the Kents. "This is Martha Kent and her husband Jonathan. They helped Superman become the man he was. You could learn a lot from them."

"Hi." Muttered the boy, his crystal eyes darting back down to study the grass. Then, still not meeting anyone's eyes, "The woman I was staying with, she was engaged to a man named 'Kent'."

"Clark." Martha nodded, taking a step forward, and trying very hard not to slip into a facsimile of her 'baby-voice'. "He was our son. My name's Martha, but everyone just calls me 'Ma'. What's your name?"

"Project Kr." He supplied dejectedly. "But Kid Flash and Robin call me 'Supey' and the woman I was staying with in Metropolis called me 'Kid'."

Oh, Lois! You didn't even bother to give him a proper name! Martha would have to have a talk with that girl. "Well, we'll have to do something about that. You'll never be your own person if you don't even have your own name."

He blinked at her for a moment before saying, "I'd like that. Thank you." Then he asked, "Did… did Superman meet you through Clark? I know he spent a great deal of time with the employees of the Daily Planet."

Martha blinked for a moment, startled. He didn't know that Clark was Superman. Of course, if no one actually told him, how would he know? The people that cloned him couldn't possibly have known that they were the same person, so they couldn't have programmed him with that information. Bruce would never tell another hero's identity, living or dead. Lois might not tell if she still had reservations about the boy, and judging by the fact that she hadn't even named him, it was obvious that she did. So, no. Of course the boy would have no idea that his genetic-parent and Clark Kent were one in the same.

"I guess you could say that." Jonathan answered, a half-smile on his lips. Just a moment ago she feared he might be on the cusp of another heart attack, now he was laughing at a private joke. But then again, it had been his idea to start with, the costume… the secret identity. Lois Lane might have named him, but it was Jonathan Kent that _created_ 'Superman'. "Clark and Superman were _very_ close."

…

Life with the Kents was not exactly how the young clone imagined.

Living with Lois had been similar to being roommates, or rather, how roommates were depicted in the media. Having never actually been required to pay half of the rent or utilities, the Kid couldn't say with all certainty that they were roommates. But then, what did you call it when an older person allowed a younger person to live with them rent-free, paid for all their food, did their laundry and nagged them to clean their room?

Life with Wally's family, it was clear that he was a guest and they intended for him to leave at some point. They didn't charge him rent, same as Lois hadn't, they also paid for his food and did his laundry, but there was no sense of permanence to his stay there. It was a visit. With Lois, he felt like he could have stayed there forever if he so desired and she would have been just fine with that.

Here at the Kents, there was that same feeling of permanence. But there was a different undertone to it. Lois was welcoming and nice, but she was also always busy. Running here and there on her stories. Working. Always working. Keeping busy. There was more then enough work on the farm to keep all three of them busy, but there was no rush to it. They rose early in the morning with the rising sun and began morning tasks. Then there was a large breakfast. Downtime. Then afternoon chores and a light lunch. More down time, then evening chores and dinner.

The young clone didn't understand how this was supposed to make him a new Superman, but for the present, he didn't mind so much.

Mrs. Kent, Ma, was very warm and always friendly. When she looked at him, it was with an odd mix of pride and affection. Not the dismay and expectations he was used to seeing on other's faces. It was clear that she still saw his predecessor when she looked at him. But, the clone got the feeling that it wasn't in the same way.

Mr. Kent, Pa, was quiet for the first few days of the clone's stay at the farm. The young Superman wasn't quite sure what to make of him at first, and perhaps Pa felt the same way and that was the source of his silence. But when he did speak, Pa was polite, the kind of cordial politeness one used when they still hadn't yet made-up their mind about someone. Batman's reservations about him, the clone almost understood, they were partners, they were close, and the Kid was claiming to be his replacement. Was it something similar with Pa? He did say that his son, Clark, and Superman were very close, but how close were Superman and Pa?

There were pictures in the house. Ma and Pa said they were of their son, of Clark. But every now and again, the clone would catch himself starring at them, thinking they looked like someone else. He didn't know many people. He knew Batman, Black Canary, and Red Tornado. Robin, Kid Flash, Aqualad and Miss Martian. Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, Perry White and Bibbo Bibbowski. But the person in the photos didn't look like any of them. Cadmus programmed him with knowledge of people whom were connected to Superman. He knew what Lois looked like before he ever met her in person. He knew of Dr. Emil Hamilton, Detective Dan Turpin, Captain Maggie Sawyer, and Clark Kent.

The photos _did_ look like Clark. But… they also looked like someone else…

It was a crazy idea, but… the young clone though they almost looked like… _him_!

There was one picture of a pre-teen, no older than eleven, maybe, trying on his father's glasses. It was funny; the frames looked almost identical to the ones adult Clark Kent wore. But more than that… the dark hair and prominent brow almost looked like the clone's. The high cheek bones and strait nose. And those eyes! The young Superman took the framed photo with him into the bathroom to examine his own reflection next to the picture. Same shape. Same color. Vibrant blue. A crystal-blue. An inhumane shade now found on Earth naturally.

Pa said that Clark Kent and Superman were very close. But what did he mean by that? How close were they? Was there some secret meaning or hidden subtext to that statement? Maybe. Just looking at these pictures, Clark and Superman looked a lot like one another. But… that could just be a bizarre coincidence, right? They met and became friends because they resembled one another and that was why they were so close. That must be it. After all, Clark Kent was born here on Earth, here in Kansas, here in Smallville. Superman was a strange visitor from another planet.

A knock on the bathroom door startled him out of his musings.

"Carl that south field ain't gonna spray itself." Pa called through the wood.

"Right!" The young clone answered quickly, emerging from the bathroom, photograph in hand. "Sorry. I was… I got distracted."

The older man's eyes fell on the framed photo in his hand. Reaching out slowly, he pulled the frame from the clone's loose grip. Running a hand over the grass, Pa gazed at the photo forlornly. "I remember the day this was taken."

The young Superman didn't know what to say to that. He knew how to recognize what people's emotions were. He could recognize muscle movements in people's faces that indicated what they were feeling. He knew Pa was remembering something happy from his past, but that he was also sad because that happy memory reminded him of someone he had lost. But the clone had no idea how he was supposed to react to that. What should he say?

"What was he like?" The Kid finally asked, after a prolonged silence. "Your son."

"He was a remarkable young man…" Pa replied, voice sounding far off and somewhere else. "Martha and I always wanted lots of kids, but none of 'em ever seemed to take. After so many years, we finally gave it up. Then little Clark just sort of… happened. Our miracle boy…"

Again, the young clone had no idea what to say. He took a moment to consider and decided that, "You and your wife must have been pleased." sounded safe enough.

He nodded, finally looking up from the photo at the Kid. "We were hoping he'd eventually give us a couple of grandkids."

O…kay… The genomorphs never taught him how to interpret that expression. It seemed like Pa was hinting at some deeper meaning in that statement, but the clone had no idea what it was or even could be. "Shame about he and Lois. Never getting married I mean."

"Yes. That is a real shame." Pa agreed. He tucked the photograph in its frame under one arm and wrapped the other around the boy's shoulders. The awkward moment seeming to have passed. "Now then, lets get going. There's work to be done!"

"Right. By the way, I don't think I like 'Carl' all that much after all." The boy informed him. "Can we try another one?"

They had already been through Christopher, Dean, and Silas.

"That's a shame. Carl would have suited you nicely."

"Thank you, but no thank you, Pa." The young clone was quite firm on the matter. If it was going to be his name for the rest of this life (however long or short that ended up being) then wasn't going to settle for anything less than a perfect fit.

Pa only shrugged. "Alright. School ain't for another few weeks. We got time to find a name that does right by you."

"School?"

…

"Oh no! Kent Nelson, that nice old man?" Martha sounded politely alarmed from the other end of the phone and Bruce had to wonder if she every actually met the late Doctor Fate or if she'd only ever just heard about him from Clark. "Bruce, you and the rest of the League have our condolences. How are the children holding up? Since they were there when it happened."

"Rather well." Replied the Dark Knight. He hadn't actually been calling to share that news with Martha. It just sort of slipped out when she asked how his day had gone. The Caped Crusader was _not_ in the habit of sharing information so freely. But, ever since Clark's passing, he noticed that there were lapses in his normal character where he would slip-up and do or say something that he normally wouldn't. Informing Martha Kent of Nelson's passing when he had originally intended to ask for an update on the boy was one of those lapses. "They might just be teenagers, Martha, but they've been trained. If it wasn't for Kid Flash, who knows what might have happened to the Helmet of Fate."

And that, he promised himself, was all he was going to share on that score. Bruce knew he probably shouldn't even have said that much. The phone was secure on his line, but he could make no guarantees about the security of the Kent farmhouse line. Clark never did let him put anti-spyware in any of his civilian phones or computers. (He was convinced the Dark Knight would be eavesdropping on his intimate conversations with Lois. Ha! As if Bruce cared that Lois liked to tell him to rub the receiver over his bright red underpants.)

"Still, do they have someone they can talk to?" Martha continued.

"The Team was remarkably unaffected by the incident." And that really was the last word he was going to say about it. "Martha, I'm actually calling about the clone. How are you and Jonathan handling him? Do you need any help?"

"Help?" Ma echoed into the phone. "Oh, no we're all fine. Conner's been a great help this past week!"

"Conner?"

"It's the latest in a long line of names we've been trying." Ma explained. "I've got high hopes for this one, he's gone a whole day and hasn't tried changing it."

"So then he… uh, _Conner_ is adjusting well?"

"Better than I thought." And Martha actually sounded more concerned than proud at that. "From what you and Lois had told me about him, I was expecting to get nothing but stubbornness and sass from him. But he's been the exact opposite. Helpful and quiet, almost withdrawn. When you told him that Jon and I 'helped Superman become the man he was', I would have expected him to think you meant some kind of special training. If so, he should be nagging us about it by now. But he's not. Conner seems content to just work on the farm all day."

That was remarkably different from the boy Bruce was familiar with. Could the incident at the bridge have affected him tot he point of not wanting to succeed as the new Superman? Bruce had mixed feelings about that.

On the one hand, he was glad and relived that the little upstart imposter wasn't going to try and profane his friend's good name anymore. (It was an unfairly harsh thought, and Bruce was aware of that fact. But that was still how he felt.) But on the other hand, if he had lost his motivation to emulate honest and noble predecessor, what would he do with himself instead? It was dangerous to just leave someone with his powers and potential directionless. That made him vulnerable. It made him corruptible. (Not that there was much opportunity for corruption in Smallville.)

"Thank you, Martha." He said. "You've given me something to think about."

…


End file.
